


Domesticity

by CC_Writes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Content, Tags May Change, Transhumanism, chapter specific tags are in the notes at the start of each
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-01-30 01:44:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12643596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC_Writes/pseuds/CC_Writes
Summary: Takes place between Season 15 and whatever 16 will be. Takes place after "Too Spooky Much Ghost" but it is not essential to have read that first though it is recommended.Snippets of Grif and Simmons settling into their new relationship and all the pros and cons that come with it. While intended to be mostly fluff there is some semi serious angst because the series won't let me not talk about it.





	1. What we need to talk about

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, while this was supposed to be just sweet loving fluff, events in Season 15 do need to be addressed whether I like it or not. In this chapter the incident with the Temple and it's very serious consequences are discussed as well as how it has effected the boy's view of Tucker. While it may be felt that I could have just ignored it I don't believe that I can as it has had a MAJOR impact on both Grif and Simmons and I also feel it would be an insult to individuals who have been subjected to similarly horrible things to either sweep it under the rug or act like it was no big deal. 
> 
> There are two panic attacks / ptsd flashbacks and since I am not able to judge what people find to be too much I have added a + on a separate line before and after each attack so if you do not wish to see it you may ctrl+f to hop to the end of the event.

 

 

          Simmons didn't even bother looking up when Grif skulked into what was currently serving as their base(which was actually an apartment/dorm thing)'s living room. Really the room itself was just the largest most intact one in the partially restored building. It had a passable couch, a passable recliner, a passable coffee table, and a passable TV, all set out on a passable rug. So, all in all, it was... passable.

Not that anyone here would begrudge the people of Chorus for their less than stellar accommodations. After the disaster of their little getaway on the moon paired with the continued planet-wide rebuilding that would probably continue for almost a whole generation? Yeah, only the lowest shit stains would demand anything more of them. They could be left alone and out of the spotlight without having to leave the planet. At least until whatever new madness that undoubtedly loomed in their future swooped in and drag them off kicking and screaming.

Up until that point, Simmons had been alone, half curled up, half sitting, on the far right of the mostly okay couch, typing away on a spare data pad while the TV droned softly in the background. He'd been feeling a bit out of sorts today and writing usually made him feel at least somewhat normal again. Though with Grif's notably grumpy entrance, perhaps that meant it was time for a break? Whether he liked it or not it seemed.

Now, he'd shared various living spaces with Grif for well over a decade, so he had become well versed in the 'moods of the Grif', such as the now approaching: 'I am going to lay down here even if you don't move and I will not accommodate you.'. Long winded but apt.

The casual writer huffed in mild annoyance, plucking up a shabby, worn, pillow from beside him and tossed it in his lap just moments before the couch shifted under the newly added weight of Grif sprawling across it, his head landing neatly on the newly placed cushion.

Simmons raised an eyebrow and sighed down at the lump of messy brown ponytail attached to a sturdy round head that he now held in his lap, "Yes?"

"Are you actually watching that?"

Oh, the TV? "No, not really. Just background sound." Simmons shrugged, “Makes it easier to focus.” unfortunately there wasn't much to watch on TV here other than the news. Every weekend they'd broadcast shows collected from transmissions from earth, but outside of that it was just the news on repeat, so probably not surprising that the living-room wasn't particularly lived in most of the time.

"So that means you're writing then?"

Simmons felt his face heat up, "Uh, yeah..."

Grif hummed, shifting a bit so he could peer up at him, "What's it about? More of your "Marauder" stuff?"

"No...” Simmons hesitated, “It's a different one. Not part of a series, at least I don't think it will be... Probably just a novella."

"What's it about?"

The redhead flushed a little more, a shy uncertainty overtaking him, talking about his writing was always difficult, that's why he'd tried to make sure no one ever found about it, "It's about...” he began, trying to assemble the general idea he had into something more or less coherent, “Well there's these two girls, on a transport. Maybe military? I wrote it that way so far, but I'm not sure if they make good soldiers... But, it malfunctions or maybe it's shot down? It umm, breaks apart in the air. They're the only ones who survive the crash. One girl ends up stranded in this lush canyon kind of place, that she can't get out of because her leg is broken. The other girl ends up like, miles away, she's hurt too but she can walk. She sees smoke from the other part of the crash so she tries to find it and hopefully her friend." he squirmed a little, "So it's about them fighting to survive long enough to be rescued and maybe realize how much they um... Need each other? I'm thinking they were kind of close, but they were never good about showing it...?" god it sounded so stupid... Why couldn't it sound as cool as it did in his head?

"Can I see?" Grif asked, voice surprisingly meek, like, still trying to be casual but there was a tone indicating he knew he was asking a lot but was still really curious.

Trying not to seem reluctant, that was hardly the larger man's fault, Simmons passed the pad down to him. Grif regarded the few paragraphs he skimmed almost dispassionately, but Simmons cybernetics whispered of increases in heart rate, brain activity, the constriction of pupils. So definitely an emotional reaction, but was it a good one? The part he'd been working on when Grif came in was a rough draft of when the girl in the canyon realizes her leg is broken and has to drag herself from the wreckage, discovering the bodies of the pilot and a couple of the other passengers. Figuring out she's all alone.

"It's um..." Grif began, and Simmons valiantly tried to remind himself that the other man was probably trying to think of what to say because he was as shitty at communication as he, himself, and not because what he read was total crap and Simmons should never have written anything in the first place, "Was that, uh," _he's trying really hard, it's not crap, it's not crap_ , "That's the Chorus crash isn't it? I mean it just kind of reminded me... Was that how it was for you?"

Simmons floundered for an answer as he took back the pad, "Yeah... I mean I dressed it up a bit but, I guess that was basically it. Some stuff was hyper-detailed, some stuff just didn't feel like it was real. I was trying to put that into words."

He felt Grif's head move as he nodded, then jerked a little in surprise at the additional feeling of Grif's now free hand settling on his knee, thumb rubbing light circles against the fabric of his pants.

They're both really trying.

"I think you nailed it." Grif finally said, and Simmons felt his chest swell with pride.

"Thanks."

For a short span, a comfortable silence fell over them as they watched, but not really, the repeating news broadcast. First major agricultural project for the planet was underway, they were talking about the plan to use the temple of harvest to accelerate the growth. Hopefully, they were grilling Santa about the specifics. Alien temples were... Problematic. People were still being advised to report anything strange regarding plants though. He swore to god if there was like a fucking singing plant up on their not roof where Donut had planted a box garden he was just going to burn the building to the ground. No ' _feed me Seymour_ ' for him, no sir!

 

          In the quiet Grif kept up his absent-minded touches to Simmons' knee, shame the heavyset man had his hair pulled back or he'd run his fingers through it, he knew he liked that, and it was always so fascinating to see a shock of his own red, frizzy and wild among Grif's oddly tamer wavy brown. It looked good on him. Instead, Simmons settled for gently scratching the Hawaiian's back, between his shoulder blades.

Grif made an appreciative sound, shifting a tad to get a better angle.

"Did you need something?" Simmons asked, quiet and amused, Grif had seemed annoyed or put out when he'd come in. Things were moving slowly for both of them in the asking for displays of affection department, so this kind of thing only mostly happened so far if they were in particular moods, usually not so great ones.

"You to keep doing that." Grif all but purred.

That earned him a chuckle and Simmons curled his fingers a little so his blunt nails scratched more firmly.

"Oh, that hits the spot."

"You're like a big old Saint Bernard aren't you?" the Dutch-Irishman teased.

"Woof."

Simmons laughed again, "Seriously, did you need something? It seemed like you did."

"Grow your hair out."

"No."

" _Boo_.”

As amused as he was Simmons wasn't going to let Grif avoid giving him an actual answer, "Come on, man."

Grif grumbled and huffed, "I'm stuck..."

"Here, on this couch?"

"No. I need a new perspective. Let me use your brain, rub some science on me."

"Hmm? Well, I'll do my best, what's the problem?"

"I want to prank Tucker."

"Run out of ideas already?" would be really surprising if he had, Grif had a natural talent for pulling particularly aggravating pranks, he'd been a victim in the past often enough to know that for a fact.

"No, got a lot. Problem is I think he knows it's me."

"I thought we wanted him to know it was you? Isn't that like the cornerstone of revenge?"

"No, I want him to suspect it's me, I don't want him to be able to prove it."

"Aah..." that was a problem then... "Okay, let's see what I can do. You've got a plan already I assume?"

Grif turned his head enough so the redhead could see his wicked grin, "Oh I do, mostly. I need it cleaned up."

Simmons gave him a mirrored grin, "I'm good at cleaning things up. Fill me in."

  
So Grif did.

 

Ah, yes, Simmons could see the problem. Too obvious. But you see... If you did this... Or perhaps...

"I think you were right, this does need some science... How about something old school?"

"How old is this school?"

"I'm thinking... third grade?"

"Oh _do_ tell."

See they had _this_ , **that** too, no need to requisition anything, no paper trail at all.

However, as in all good things, you couldn't get something for nothing, "Your going to have to make a couple sacrifices though."

"How big of a sacrifice are we talking...?"

"Not that big. First, you need to be up early."

"Ugh... Why?"

"Because you're making pancakes. It's enough of an alibi to avoid the blame, but it puts you at the scene so the suspicion is still there."

"Any other sacrifices?"

"Just one, that cereal we got? Say goodbye."

"Aww man, but we're not going to get more from earth for like a million years... Okay fine! It better be worth it." Grumble grumble.

"It will be. I promise. Lastly, and this is the most important part."

"I'm listening."

"No one touches the milk. Not a soul. Think you can do that?"

"Pft, that's easy. What about Tucker?"

The smile that split Simmons' face was so sinister it would have given Felix pause, and that guy had been all about letting you know how evil he was.

_Have I told you about my collection of dead puppies? Don't worry! I have a 2-hour monologue/ lecture all about it! With pictures! See how evil I am!?_

"Don't worry, leave Tucker to me."

 

          Grif rolled back onto his back and peered up at Simmons with something akin to awe, "Why Sinnamon! I didn't know you had it in you. If I'm not careful you might steal my heart. That used to be your heart... But it's mine so... crap."

The smile disappeared from Simmons' face, replaced by a kind of fragile embarrassment, and he blushed scarlet all the way up to his ears. While Grif had probably said it solely for the reaction apparently he hadn't thought the words entirely through in the same sense because a similarly embarrassed but less extreme, blush blossomed across his cheeks, more prominent on the pale left side.

The ensuing silence was a little awkward and Simmons struggled not to fidget as the other man tried to regard him with a more serious and half determined expression despite the still prominent blush.

"Well?"

"Well?" Simmons squeaked.

"I said something romantic right? Or I tried to..." Grif avoided his gaze, "So aren't you supposed to, like... reward me? Or some shit..."

Oh!

"Oh!" It was Simmons' turn to avoid eye contact as he leaned down the best he could, "You could have just asked..." that got him an indignant huff, yeah okay he's wrong, he knows it, don't rub it in, "You gotta meet me halfway, I can't bend down that far."

Grif took that as his cue to reach up and cup Simmons' cheek, forcing him to reestablish eye contact. The cyborg's breath caught when those mischievous mismatched eyes refused to let him go, and he swallowed nervously when his boyfriend grinned, "Oh you can, I know first hand." Simmons spluttered and Grif kept on grinning as he propped himself up just enough, "Guess I can do some of the work."

Ass.

Simmons pouted but didn't resist when Grif's hand moved up and settled on the back of his head, urging him down to meet in the middle, happily catching his mouth.

 

          He really liked kissing Grif. It was really difficult to admit how much, they'd spend so long pretending they didn't want this sort of thing, now that he had it though...

The redhead wondered how Grif could possibly enjoy kissing him. His own lips were pretty thin, they always seemed to be chapped, and were almost as pale as the rest of him. Probably cold too. Probably like kissing a fish.

Grif was the opposite. His lips were larger, softer, warm and alive, and even the most chaste of kisses made Simmons feel all tingly while simultaneously absolutely terrified and like he could fight the Meta with a pocket knife.

Though most of the time, like now, kissing Grif didn't stay chaste for very long. Grif, in particular, seemed to prefer the more... intimate sorts of kissing which involved tongues. The kind that made him forget to breathe.

Simmons tried valiantly not to squirm in his seat as embers gathered in his stomach and heat zipped up his spine and prickled along his scalp. He did his best to reciprocate and not just be swept away, but it was difficult. It was honestly completely unfair that Grif was so much more experienced and frankly just plain talent when it came to intimacy.

He had long accepted that it was his own fault though. He'd been starved for affection since more or less forever and he didn't do anything about it even when he'd finally left home. He'd stayed just as touch starved, too nervous for anything more than the few one-time sexual encounters and single attempt at a relationship he'd fumbled his way through. Nothing meaningful.

So it really felt like all it took was a few loving touches or a kiss or two and he'd turn into a pathetic trembling ball of chemicals and electrical impulses, eager to please.

He tried not to think about how pathetic he probably looked to an outside observer... and failed.

+  
          Probably all too easy to joke about how simple it must be to get him into bed, but... they were kind of having trouble there. Nowhere near as bad as in the beginning where each attempt at intimacy was a living nightmare full of trauma that he'd rather not think about. That was when they both had realized that they could no longer just jump into it like they might have normally, that communication was not optional for them, that their repressive silence had to stop or this ' _they_ ' they were trying to be would not survive.

It had gotten better with time, but it still happened on occasion. Simmons had to grimly accept that it might never actually go away.

Sometimes it happened when they were just messing around, but it was much worse when they were actually having sex.

Everything would be fine, hell, it would be amazing, sweaty and desperate and everything he'd ever wanted, wrapped up in touch and taste and sound and scent, chasing that feeling that was equal parts too much and not nearly enough. Feeling close and connected to his lover in a way that corny as it sounded he couldn't put into words.

Then suddenly he's not there anymore, he's in the supply closet, he remembers every single detail, down to the texture of the floor and the shelves. How he tried desperately to hold out until it was over. How he felt like he was being cooked alive in his own body, skin so sensitive it hurt. There are hands on him and they're Grif's hands but it's not Grif using them and his hands aren't his hands and he's not himself it feels so good but its so wrong and it hurts so much in a way that isn't actually pain but he suddenly can'ttellthedifferencehedoesn'twantthishecan'tmakehimselfstop- _Stop, make it stop, I want to die..._

The attacks happen to both of them but it's a disaster when it happens to both of them _at the same time_. They can't do anything then but wait for it to be over. On opposite sides of the almost too small bed, the space between them agonizingly cavernous and not nearly far enough. It hurts so much. Because the only person who can make it okay is **right there** , but that person is also his attacker and he is theirs. They force themselves to hold hands, it feels like the one sane thing they can do in response to the contradicting feeling of wanting to hold each other so tight it hurts and never let go, and to run away screaming and never stop. So they entwine fingers and try not to look away from one another. Expressions fearful and trembling, hiding under the comforter like children, until they can finally be close again without wanting to rip themselves apart. For Simmons it feels oddly ritualistic, like a process he has to do, he gets the feeling that it's the same for Grif. Like, if he doesn't then he'll only ever see the monster that wore Grif's skin, and not the man he can finally admit he loves.

That's why Simmons doesn't chide Grif for harassing Tucker. That's why he's all too eager to help him. Because _Tucker_ did this to them. It's his fault and he isn't even sorry. He's _glad_ he did it. He needs to be punished for what he's done! And they know he won't be.

None of the others realize, or worse they don't care. It didn't happen to them after all. They got to choose who they wanted, they had the whole planet, the ability to sort out what they wanted before it got too bad, they weren't trapped in a room with someone the whole time, someone they weren't ready to be intimate with. Suffering until the alien tower crawled inside them and made them destroy each other.

A dark part of himself, that Simmons isn't proud of, wants to hurt Tucker. He knows enough psychology to know the feeling is completely normal for what he went through, but he still feels ashamed. How much damage he wants to do, how he wants to slowly rip Tucker apart until he's suffered as much as he has, until he understands how _repulsive_ he is, until he feels just as carved out, ugly, and dead inside as he did when he came back to himself and realized what had happened to him and what he'd done... The first time he'd seen Grif cry because of him.

That's why they'd settled on pranks. Anything passive and petty, the nastier the better. They have to do something or they'll go crazy and thus far it actually seems to be working. It's the closest to justice they and the others will get.

Because they can't be the only ones something like this happened to, they know they aren't, but Tucker is a ' _hero_ ' so no one would dare say anything. Those people will never have justice.

All those poor women, finding themselves pregnant when it was all over. The only thing they could do was demand child support and they'll never see a cent, Tucker has no money, they haven't been paid in years. They'll never have justice either.

And Tucker _thinks it's funny_.

+

"Simmons? Hey, it's okay." Grif's voice, soft and gentle, from somewhere a little above him.

Registering his voice snapped Simmons back to awareness and to the realization that he was leaning against something, and that something was Grif. He blinked against the disorientation that came from the depressingly familiar feeling of the aftermath of an attack. Damn it...

They'd moved, Grif was sitting up; he'd been holding him, tight enough to be something stable, but not enough to make it worse, until he'd come back to himself, repeating calm comforting words against his hair.

Gently he tugged Grif's shirt to let him know it was over, looking down at his lap in embarrassment as Grif's embrace relaxed and let him pull away. He didn't get away with it for long and a warm hand cupped the side of his face, making him look up, so his boyfriend could check him over.

Simmons felt his false heartache in sorrow as he was reminded again of how easily and frankly with how much grace, Grif fell into the role of protector. How many times must he have had to for it to be that automatic? And why couldn't _he_ ever be even half as good when it was Grif who was suffering?

“Are you okay now?” Grif asked carefully, “You just kind of blanked out there all of a sudden and then you started shaking.”

Simmons blinked, the nonmetal side of his face felt wet, it was nice of Grif not to mention it, but he knew that meant there was more to it than just some shaking, “I'm sorry.” he said, voice trembling as he wiped his human eye, “I just... I started thinking about why you're, we're, pranking him and I just... I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to...”

“Don't say sorry.” Warm arms pulled him close again, it was little awkward given that they were both hunched up on the couch, but it helped ground him and Simmons really appreciated how much like a giant teddy bear Grif was just so fucking much right now, “And I get it,” the teddy bear in question continued, “it just happens. Just a random stray thought, or random stray anything, and suddenly it all goes to shit and you don't know how to stop it.”

“Yeah.” Simmons wrapped his arms around Grif's middle, he may have said it was fine but he still felt embarrassed for even having the thought in the first place, “I'm a mess.”

“Dude, we're both messes, it's fine”

“I don't deserve you,” Simmons admitted softly, depressive thoughts trying to take up residence where the panic had been.

“You don't get to decide that, I do.” gentle but firm, Grif wasn't going to let him argue this one, “And I did, and it's done. No more beating yourself up. If you ever somehow, magically, fuck things up _that_ bad, I promise I will tell you. Okay?”

A chuckle pulled it's way out of Simmons and he smiled, “Okay.” he leaned back a little, just enough to give Grif a lazy kiss. _I'm okay now,_ “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Grif assured him, “That's how this thing works. We might be a bit crap at it, but who cares? I think we're allowed to be crap together.”

Simmons hummed in agreement, kissing Grif again when he'd stopped talking. Yeah, they were busted and stupid and weird, but that was them, so it was okay. They'd be okay as long as they were together. Sappy maybe, but he'd honestly never been more certain of anything.

"I just remembered, there's one more thing you need to do," he mumbled between presses.

"Hmm?"

He grinned, "Brush your teeth."

Grif snorted, "Grow your hair out."

"No."

"I brushed my teeth this morning."

Simmons laughed and it felt good. He felt good again.

"Come on." Grif awkwardly got up, holding out a hand for him to grab.

Simmons took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet despite his confusion, "Where are we going?"

"Nap," Grif said matter-of-factly, "that shit takes a lot out of you and the stupid couch isn't big enough."

"It is a sad baby couch."

"The saddest."

Simmons fished his pad out from where it had slowly been trying to escape into the void between the couch cushions, "Alright, I think I can indulge you just this once. I might work on this though. That okay?"

Grif shrugged, "Fine with me. Care if I watch over your shoulder? I might. Or should I pretend I can't read?"

The redhead worried his lip for a moment, "Well... I don't know... I guess it's okay?"

Grif hummed, nudging him in the back gently and ushering them out of the room, "It's fine, I'll just go to sleep then. I'm magic like that. Or maybe I'll just make out with you, I'm magic like that too."

Simmons blushed and squeezed his hand.

  
****

  
Getting up early sucked.

Frankly, it should be illegal.

Grif grumbled and whined, hemmed and hawed, rolled up into a burrito and sulked, but eventually obeyed the hellish buzzing of the makeshift alarm clock by his and Simmons' bed, and got up.

After giving said alarm a death glare when he deactivated it, as was custom, he picked up the scrap of paper sitting next to it and looked over the note that had been left for him by his currently absent boyfriend.

 

 _Went to get Tucker. Expect 20 min to make_ _him get up, 20 min to get him to go, 30 to drag him to Requisitions, hour to get done. If you got up when the alarm went off you probably have 45 min._

 ~~_signed love best yours truly_ ~~  
_**Love** ,_  
_Dick_

_P.S ha ha very funny, laugh it up._

 

          There was something about the fact that Simmons had written the note by hand on paper, rather than texting him, that while really amusing also was kind of heartwarming. It was...dare he say it, cute.

Speaking of, the Hawaiian hunted around in his messy, yet sadly meager, collection of personal effects and pulled out the crap smart device they'd each been given (felt surreal to have one again after so long, suits had all this built in so there'd never been a need) and typed out a text.

  
[G: OH I KNOW YOU DO. AND YES I WILL LAUGH.]

_Simmons is typing..._

[S: ! ]

[G: BUT IT'S OKAY, SO DO I. ;) ]

_Simmons is typing..._

[S: <3 ]

[G: SAP.]

_Simmons is typing..._

[S: TICK TOCK TICK TOCK.]

[G: I KNOW I KNOW. I'M GOING. SEE U LATER.]

  
Grumbling, but knowing it would be worth it in the end, he scooped a pair of basically clean pants and shirt off the floor and threw them on, shoving the phone in his back pocket.

Bright side, soon there would be pancakes.

 

****

 

          Like the stealthy food based ninja that he was Grif managed to make it to the kitchen without attracting any attention. He immediately moved the items they'd prepared for the prank to their proper locations. Hopefully, no one had noticed they had been moved... Grabbed the ingredients he'd set aside and got started.

Okay... No sweat. The key to bullshitting people was to act like you weren't doing anything wrong. Want in a place? Just go the fuck in. Don't act sneaky, don't try to talk to people, just go in like you belong there. Done and dusted.

So that's what he did, no fancy prep work, no checking or double checking, he set things up and started making pancakes.

  
         Of all the people to appear first, one might expect someone like Donut or Caboose, they'd smell the food and come check it out. Or, an early riser like Carolina or Washington.

Nope.

Grif heard the telltale shuffle of a person trying to be quiet (it was a very distinct sound, even if you don't think you've heard it, you have) he smiled to himself in amusement when he saw the person's blurry warped reflection in the metal exhaust cover over the stove.

Lean in, peek, left, right, back behind the wall, _shuffle shuffle_. Probably thought they were being stealthy and covert, in reality, though it just screamed **shy**.

"I'm seriously going to make you change your name to 'Ghost' if you keep doing that."

Locus froze in his tracks, looking at Grif like he was some sort of evil hell beast.

Grif snickered and tapped the metal cover.

Locus sighed and grumbled an, "Of course..." under his breath.

"Don't worry," the Hawaiian assured him, "every super soldier that joins us turns into an idiot, we're infectious like that."

That got him another glare as Locus made a beeline for the coffee machine. Testy.

 

One by one people filtered in.

 

          First, Sarge, who wasn't anyone to worry about, he drank his coffee black, at least until he snuck at least 4 sugars into it when he thought no one was looking. They let him have that.

Donut was next, perky and sunshiny, and a mild problem, because he always had a glass of juice **and** milk with breakfast (which came with all the innuendos you never wanted to hear concerning the consumption of a creamy white liquid). This was remedied with the pre-poured glasses Simmons had advised he make.

After that Grif only had to chase Pinky away from the stove twice, swatting the bubbly little private with the spatula the second time, ignoring the "You're so rough with me, but I can take a big boy like you!" and raising the spatula again in warning. Donut squeaked and scuttled off to set the table.

Caboose was the next to wander in. The somewhat childish Blue made it three steps into the room before he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes going wide and head lifting slightly higher in the manner of a person who just realized they forgot something or that something was amiss but they couldn't figure out what it was.

_Caboose.exe has stopped working._

Several long seconds passed, accompanied by the awkward stares of the room's other occupants, before Caboose suddenly shouted, "Ah!" like he'd just found the solution to some insanely complex puzzle or something, and whipped off his shirt, flipped it, and yanked it back on with a "Tag in the **back**!"

To be fair that wasn't a Caboose specific problem but it was a Caboose specific solution.

The weirdly bulky man wandered over and peered over Grif's shoulder, "Pancakes?"

"Yup."

"Oh boy!

Grif passed him a glass of milk, “I'll dish them out when they're all done. There's... I think apples or some shit in the fridge to tide you over if you need it.”

“I will revel in my _anticipation_!” Caboose crowed, bounding over to the table to claim a seat.

Well okay then.

  
          Grif had a hefty stack of pancakes by the time Carolina came in, Washington in tow. They'd probably been awake even longer than he had, doing their morning workout routines, the weirdos. They kept mostly to themselves, which was fine, but on occasion, they'd joined Simmons when he went on his morning jog.

Well, _joined_ might not be the right word, because they didn't ask and we're not asked, they just kind of showed up and kept pace.

Of interest though was that this tended to happen more often when it was just Carolina. At first, Grif figured it was because she wanted someone to compete against. But, Simmons had said that actually, she didn't seem to be trying to beat him, that the times when she began to run faster she seemed to hold back until he got the hint and sped up to keep pace. A kind of not race. So perhaps, Grif wondered, could it be that she was lonely?

She wasn't distant with the blues per say, just that Washington seemed a lot closer to them than her. She'd kind of seemed only to hang around them with any sort of purpose back when she'd had Epsilon. So maybe more like... That friend who hung out with the group because they were the friend of someone in said group? Far as he knew she didn't really like Tucker, and while she didn't hate the big guy she didn't seem to know how to interact with Caboose. She'd seemed kind of aimless until a bit after they started living on the moon. More he thought of it the more it seemed like maybe she was trying to test the boundaries of Red team? Maybe their dynamic felt more comfortable than the Blues?

Did that make her a red?

Hmm... Her armor was teal so that made it Blue but she dyed her hair red... So...? No, she had 'Blue team problems'™, well previous problems, so probably just honorary Red? Sounded about right. Eh, whatever, the team thing was really just tradition at this point.

Anyway.

She and Wash would be a problem though. But this was what he was good at, time to go to work!

Ugh, that felt gross to say! Think. Whatever.

 

          Carolina went to open the fridge, looking for milk for her coffee, and Grif punted it closed with his foot. The look she leveled at him could peel paint. He wouldn't be cowed though, he'd faced worst, he was the master of not giving a shit.

"Oh no you don't." he said calmly, fishing something from the other side of the counter, tossing it to Carolina who caught it without even looking away from him, "Use this."

"What the hell is this supposed to-"

"Ooo! Is that chocolate flavored?" Washington interrupted gleefully, plucking the bottle of coffee creamer from her hand. At least that got the glare off of him. The strangled sort of 'what the fuck' cough from Locus off in the background was pretty great too.

"Yup sure is." Grif confirmed, "Trust me, you'll like that a lot better. My treat."

Uh oh, glare was back, he said something wrong.

" _Why_?" Carolina's voice was short and terse.

Oops.

"Hey yeah!" Donut's chipper warbling voice chimed in, "Come to think of it, why are you making breakfast? You **never** do that. Something is fishy here!"

"I don't want fish for breakfast!" Caboose whined.

"You're not having fish for breakfast," Grif scoffed, "and can't a guy just do something nice for once?"

"Hogwash!" Sarge declared, just shy of being way too loud, "Some people maybe, but never you. Dirty snake might shed its skin, but yer still a snake!"

"I imagine that I should take offense to that," Grif grumbled.

"What are you up to?" Carolina demanded eyes narrowed.

"Do I have to be up to anything?"

"Yes."

Well shit, guess the jig was up...

...

......

HAHAHAHAHA! YEAH RIGHT!

 

          Of course, they'd be suspicious, how stupid did you think he was? People catch on quick if you're acting differently so there's no sense worrying about it. No point trying to convince them you aren't guilty either, they've already decided you are.

Instead-

"Ugh, okay, _fine_ , you got me!" Grif heaved a sigh, turning away and mumbling something under his breath.

"What was that?" her highness, the queen freelancer, pressed.

Grif turned back and glared, face blossoming red, "I said; it's for Simmons."

-admit to something else. Preferably something true.

"Explain."

"I just wanted to do something nice for him, okay?!" Grif whined, making elaborate hand gestures, "I haven't made pancakes in like a million years and I wanted to make sure they aren't crap! Are you happy now!?"

There was a pause, filled only by a high pitched coo from Donut.

"That doesn't explain this though." Washington pointed out, shaking the coffee creamer.

Grif glared a hole in the stove, "It's a bribe."

Carolina blinked, "A bribe?" her brow knit in confusion, "What could you possibly be bribing us for?"

"I want your monthly entertainment vouchers."

  
          Since Chorus was in no shape to support anything really, things outside of bare essentials basically didn't exist. Would have been pretty stupid to assume it would.

But people still want distractions and a sense of normalcy. So the new government had issued monthly vouchers, for places like the scant restaurants or cafes, and the single somewhat dilapidated movie theater, that couldn't survive on their own or accommodate any sort of economy yet and so relied solely on government funding and supplies. Gave people the ability to go enjoy themselves but at a level, the planet could handle.

"For what?"

Oh my god _really_?!

Grif's face turned redder and he squirmed, "Jesus, do I have to seriously spell it out?! It's. For. **_Simmons_**." he cleared his throat awkwardly, "I want to take him on a date... Vouchers only cover one visit to one place, you can't do dinner and a movie."

Carolina looked a little apprehensive but not like she didn't believe him.

“I'm trying _really_ hard to do the boyfriend thing right. Fuck.”

Helped that his diverting excuse wasn't a lie. He actually did want their vouchers and for the exact reason, he said he did.

 

          Shockingly it was Sarge who broke the silence with a tearful, "Ah, gosh darn it! Ah'm so proud!"

Grif was taken aback, as was everyone else, "You...are?"

"Not of you, chowder head!" Sarge snapped, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms and nodding sagely, "Ah' admit, I had some initial misgivings about this relationship. It's a terrible match! But everyone knows you don't stick your nose where it don't belong! But it looks like it paid off! Why Simmons is already turning you into a proper member of society!"

Grif stared at him balefully, "Gee thanks, Sarge. I'll be sure to tell Simmons that..."

Too bad it was **way** past the point where Simmons might have actually been glad to receive praise from their craptacular Sargent that wasn't a Sargent but was still a Sargent.

"Aww Sarge," Donut warbled, "our boys are growing up!"

He attempted to cling to the older Red but Sarge expertly dodged by flipping his chair backward, the only thing keeping him from slamming skull first into the tile being a foot hooked under the edge of the table, trembling with effort but determined.

It was impressive in an excessively stupid way.

"Your boy- but you're younger..." a mildly traumatized Locus blurted in an almost unheard mumble.

 

          "Deal or not!?" Grif asked hurriedly, make them think he was running out of time, which he was but for other reasons.

"Fine." Carolina sighed, "But we don't need the-"

"Yes, we do!" Washington interjected, silencing her with a finger pressed to her lips, and it was an absolute miracle Carolina didn't bite it right off and eat it, though the look she was giving him sure showed she was giving it serious consideration.

Still oblivious to the growing loom of death beside him Washington cheerfully took her by the hand and dragged the stiff woman towards the coffee maker, "Trust me, Carolina, you're gonna love it!" he gave Grif a wink and a thumbs up.

Huh... Guess Wash really was a romantic sap? Or he like chocolate just that much? ...well alright then. Neat.

Grif sighed and turned back to count the hoard of pancakes he'd made, he'd gone until there was no more batter, now he just had to hand them out so that, ' _oh no! There wasn't enough for Tucker? Well isn't that just a shame! No more batter either? Well darn! HOW COULD THIS HAVE HAPPENED!?_ '

So if he assumed three for everyone to start... Still too many left. Okay, who could he get away with giving four...?

Carolina would look like appeasement, good, Wash would look like gratitude, believable only because of Carolina's rage boner, Locus he could probably get away with on principle, Caboose was a given, might even get away giving him five, and Simmons went without saying, the guy needed to eat more anyway.

Which left three, so six for him. Excellent!

  
          Carolina opened her mouth to protest when he plopped the plate in front of her, even as Washington almost gleefully accepted his own, "Lesson in chilling out. There's nothing wrong with enjoying pancakes." Grif said, beating her to the punch. Carolina sighed and rolled her eyes but still reached for the syrup. Good grief, her and Simmons both, too afraid to actually enjoy shit! They should start a fucking club. Or a support group.

Donut whined in mild protest when he saw only three lone pancakes on his plate.

"You're going to cover them in enough strawberries and whipped cream from your private stash to kill a small child. You probably only needed two."

Donut hummed, "That's true, I do love some thick white-"

"Not right after I said the word 'child'!" Grif exclaimed, almost slamming Sarge's plate on the table. The old man grunted in agreement sending Donut a firm but withering look.

Donut just blinked back in confused ignorance.

Locus showed a similarly confused expression when food appeared in front of him as well, "But I didn't- "

"No butts. Like it or not you can't live solely on coffee and it's super weird for everyone else if you're not eating." Grif scolded, "Carolina didn't get away with it, so neither do you."

"Much as it causes me _untold_ amounts of physical pain, I must agree with Grif!" Sarge bellowed, "The Red team is only as strong as our weakest member! Which is Grif. But, you could become a close second... And that's unacceptable!"

Grif rolled his eyes as Sarge worked himself up into a proper conspiratorial ramble and went back to the counter.

To his surprise Caboose was there waiting patiently, a fresh glass of **juice** in his hands.

Uh oh?

"I think," the young man said softly, "that what you did. Was very nice." he looked at the remaining plates and seemed to ponder them.

He gave Grif an innocent yet somehow sly smile and hefted the glass of juice almost in toast, if one could toast with two hands, "I won't tell."

Yeah, uh oh. Real uh oh.

"Um, thanks?"

Caboose just smiled and held out his hand expectantly, taking his pancakes when Grif handed them to him, dumbfounded.

Ooookay then.

 

****

 

          Finally, FINALLY, when Grif was about to cry bitter tears from having to wait so long to eat, (he was torn okay!? On the one hand, he wanted to eat with Simmons, on the other he didn't like waiting to eat. It made him anxious. Yeah, it had been a couple minutes and no one else close to being done, but still!) he heard voices bouncing around in the hall and finally (finally, FINALLY, **FINALLY** ) Simmons walked into the kitchen, a pissy Tucker hot on his heels.

"And I told you, this is _your_ _fault_.” the redhead growled, “You did this to yourself! **I** reminded you several times and **you** couldn't be bothered!”

“You're just being a busybody and a pain in my ass!” Tucker shot back, “This isn't even a big deal! It's not like anyone cared!”

“ _Tucker_ ,” Washington groaned, “what did you do now?”

Tucker, seeming to suddenly realize there were people here and that they were all more or less starring at him and Simmons, stopped dead in his tracks and gave Wash a scandalized look, “I didn't do anything!” he scoffed.

“Technically correct,” Simmons said snidely, “it's what you **didn't** do that's got you in hot water.”

The former freelancer sighed, nursing his coffee as though it might give him the strength to deal with whatever this was, “And what is that?”

“It's nothing!”

“It's not nothing! It's a big deal! You have to register everything you requisition, and when it arrives you have to sign for it! If you don't then no one knows if you got it or not and then no one knows what you have! It's the whole purpose of inventory!”

“Oh my god it's not that big a deal! I told you, no one cares!”

“They very much do!” Simmons exposited, “They're just being nice because we're ' _famous_ '! This isn't like on earth where if you forget to do something like this it's just annoying! This is a situation where supplies are limited and knowing exactly how much you have of what and who asked for it is absolutely critical!” Simmons flung his arms up in the air, “And when you do shit like this it makes you look like you're trying to cheat them, or being a selfish asshole, which makes the rest of us look like assholes by association!”

“And **I** think-!”

“Tucker.” Washington sighed, “Simmons is right. These people have it bad enough, you're just making it harder for them. Is it really that big a deal to just sign your name on a piece of paper when you pick something up?”

Tucker made a scandalized sound and opened his mouth to retort.

“Enough!” Carolina interrupted tersely, “Tucker you're being an ass. Just fucking do it next time. Now, shut up, sit down, and eat.”

The dark skinned man huffed, “Fine...” he muttered, skulking over to the counter in search of some of whatever everyone else was eating...just in time to see Grif hand the last plate of pancakes to Simmons.

 

          The Blue leaned to look around them, frowning at the vacant counter, “Where's mine?”

Grif stared as though he had only just realized the lack of another plate and that none of this was in any way on purpose even remotely, and definitely not part of a larger plan, “Huh... Shit, guess there aren't any?”

Tucker made a face, "Bullshit." he made a move to grab Grif's plate, but the larger man was surprisingly nimble when food was on the line, "Give me some of yours! You've got like a million!"

Grif growled threateningly and in a probably childish move, licked a big fat wet line over the stack.

"Ugh, fucking gross dude!" the other man whined, turning his sights on Simmons instead, "Give me yours then, it's your fault I'm late anyway." he sneered, "You guys probably swap enough spit that you won't have any problem sharing his."

Grif glared at the insult.

 

          “Nooooo!” Donut suddenly interrupted with a dramatic wail, scarring the living daylights out of at least half of the people in the room, “You can't do that Tucker! These pancakes are for love! Can't you see that!? They're made with Grif's thick, hot, love batter!”

The teal simtrooper cringed but tried to act like he hadn't been affected, "Then what the hell am I supposed to eat?!"

"I'm sure you can find something." Locus growled, rubbing one of his temples, his free hand clinging to his coffee like it might save him, "You're hardly a child. Though I suppose being an adult is up for debate..." he finished under his breath.

He jerked ramrod straight in his seat when Sarge gave him a sudden rough clap on the back. Grif had the distinct impression he was torn between beating the old man to death with his own arms or running away and hiding under a bed or something.

"That's the spirit!" the oldest red crowd, "I had some reservations, I admit. Wasn't sure if you were a real Red or not, particularly because Grif insisted. But, Simmons backed him up so I gave you a chance. Looks like we're finally seeing the red in you, son!"

"I'm not your son."

"Good call Simmons!"

"Thank you, Sir." Simmons intoned, flatness giving suggestions of both exasperation and sarcasm.

"Yeah, whatever, laugh it up." Tucker huffed, "No one else had to make their own breakfast."

"YOU SHOULD EAT CEREAL TUCKER!" Caboose joyfully screeched, throwing his hands over his mouth and giggling softly. "There are prizes for babies inside."

"Not anymore." Grif said, playfully prodding Caboose's messy mop of hair as he passed him on his way to finally take a seat, and eat his haul, Simmons in tow, "We took that already."

"Oh yes!" the youngest blue chirped, "It was a car!" he lowered his voice and hissed conspiratorially, "We ran it over with the big car because it was not good at racing. Don't tell Tucker. He will be sad."

Tucker actually did look slightly bummed out.

"Why can't I just have-"

“Oh my god...” Carolina groaned, holding her head in her hands, “I'm going to kill everyone in this room and then myself...”

Washington visibly scooted his chair a few millimeters away from her's.

Locus looked unsettled, probably calculating how many seconds it would take to get to the door vs how fast Carolina could sprint.

No one else so much as batted an eye.

 

          "Tucker," Washington, first name Agent, said in his weirdly calm almost condescending 'dad' voice, "just have some cereal. It takes literally two seconds."

"Fine..." the other man grumbled, half stomping to the cabinet to get the box.

Seconds later said box, a bowl, spoon, and the carton of milk were unceremoniously half slammed on the table.

Simmons rolled his eyes from where he sat across from the other man.

Grif silently agreed, such drama.

  
          Tucker shook the box, frowning at the sound. Yeah, not much left, real bitch ain't it?

Grif watched dispassionately as the guy dumped out what was left, just enough for one bowl, plus all the cereal dust that was always at the bottom of the bag. He bit his lip to hold back a laugh at the face Tucker pulled.

Drama queen mode still on full force, Tucker popped open the milk and practically upended it over the bowl.

Houston? We have lift off!

The Blue had about a half a second to register via both sight and scent that what he'd poured in his bowl was not milk, and exactly none to realize that there was more than cereal in his bowl.

  
_It exploded._

  
Well, not in like a kaboom, fire in the hole, that chicken has a grenade, sort of way.

But there was a spitting hiss that sounded so much louder than it had any right to and then a huge wave of foam gushed up and over the edges of the bowl, rushing towards the edges of the table.

  
It was amazing!

  
         Everyone reacted in a split second, a chorus of shouts and upturned chairs.

Tucker made a choked, shrill, sound, trying to jump to his feet only to upset his chair and fall unceremoniously onto his ass, volcano-less volcano science fair foam cascading down and nearly drenching him.

Carolina shouted in disgust and surprise, jumping up from her seat even though the foam hadn't reached her yet.

Washington sighed and pushed his chair away from the table, taking his coffee with him.

Locus did similarly, not making a peep. Aww too bad.

Sarge burst out hooting and laughing, quickly saving what was left of his breakfast.

Caboose shrieked, "TUCKER DID IT!" at the top of his lungs.

Donut followed suit with cry of, "Tucker! You can't just blow your load all over the table!"

Grif, himself, hopped to his feet, "Whoa! Hey hey hey!" avoiding most of the foam, fishing his and Caboose's plates out of the way. Consider it thanks for not spilling the beans.

And Simmons, his precious, beautiful, perfect, Sinnamon, went for the Oscar.

"God damn it! Tucker! Get it off the table!" he shouted, chair jerking as he snatched his plate up, hoisting it high before it could be devoured by the slog of cereal filled goo. He grimaced as a wave tumbled off the edge of the table like some kind of cartoon waterfall, splattering onto his lap and the floor below.

"That's so gross..." he whined, "what the fuck..."

"Shut your face Simmons, I didn't do shit!"

The redhead looked up to lock a steely glare with Tucker as the man got back to his feet, "I never said you did." he hissed lowly.

Gold.

Some of the irritation was probably genuine. Everyone knew Simmons hated messes, especially super gross ones. Cereal soaked in baking soda and vinegar definitely qualified as gross.

What a noble sacrifice! It warmed Grif's heart.

"Sure sounds like you are." the blue growled, picking himself up off the floor, trying to brush the mess off of himself, which kind of just made it worse. "I bet you did this!" Tucker accused.

Simmons scoffed, standing up, plate in hand, shaking one of his legs in a vain attempt to jostle some of the mess free, "Oh yes, because I was so mad at you for skimping out on inventory that I decided to cover us both in... _this_. What a master fucking plan! I must have tampered with the cereal in the cabinet and the milk in the fridge, with my magical robot powers when we were arguing!"

"Well, then it must have been Grif!"

Simmons laughed, "Yeah okay. _Sure it was_."

"Tucker did it..." Caboose singsonged softly.

"Shut up Caboose." Tucker snapped, "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Simmons gave Tucker a flat look and gestured to Grif, and oh he was ready, he'd already fixed his best glare on the now still bowl of oozy goo shit.

"So?"

"That was _my_ cereal," Grif said darkly.

"It was everyone's cereal!" Tucker shouted in exasperation.

"Yeah. But it was also **mine**." the Hawaiian glowered, "What a fucking waste."

"What does that even have to do with anything?!"

"Simmons does have a point." Donut interrupted, "Not impossible that Grif did it, but it would be pretty weird."

Sarge nodded, gesturing at Grif with his mug, "Your instinct to blame Grif is not unfounded! Most things that go wrong are his fault."

"Gee thanks."

"But, food is an entirely other matter!" the old man continued, "Food you didn't order appears? Grif. Trail of wrappers? Grif. Food you wanted to eat disappears? You bet that's Grif! But food being thrown away? That's highly unlikely... Even more unlikely than the Blues winning the war!"

"There was no war! It was fake!" Tucker shouted in exasperation, "No one won anything!"

"Exactly! No Blue victory. Which means it was a Red victory!"

Grif rolled his eyes, "Now I almost wish I was guilty..."

"Then who could it possibly have been?"

"Maybe it was a ghost?" Caboose whispered gleefully, " _A ghost of Tucker!_ "

"I did not do this to myself!"

"Stop!" Washington whined, "Look, we don't know who the prank was for and it doesn't matter. It was a prank, it's over. Let's just clean it up and move on."

"And that's where you've lost me!" Grif chirped, handing Caboose his plate back, "Come on Blueberry, let's go eat in the living room, watch some shitty TV."

Caboose beamed, "Like friends?"

Grif shrugged, "Sure."

"Simmons! Like _friends_!" the brunette grinned, "You too, let's go!"

The cyborg half laughed, "Okay, okay. Let me just go change first. My pants are all gross..."

"It's okay Simmons! It happens to everyone!" Donut fired off on cue, flouncing past them, "I think I'll go finish my breakfast on the roof. The garden is in full bloom and my peonies are popping."

"Those are marigolds." Simmons automatically corrected to Donut's tittering amusement.

"Traitors!" Tucker whined, "You're not going to help me at all!?"

 

          Caboose fidgeted for a moment, mildly distressed, then he suddenly perked, darting to the counter and scooping up the roll of paper towels, "Helping!" he shouted, chucking it at his teammate.

The dark-skinned soldier squawked as the roll bounced off his head and he fumbled to catch it, managing to succeed. " _Wash_!" he wibbled, "Make them actually help me!"

"Guys..." the former freelancer tried.

"Nope," Grif said flatly, he side-eyed Simmons, noting that despite shaking his head he looked uneasy. Crap, if Wash pressed too hard he'd crack and end up cleaning up the mess. Yeah no, much as Grif wanted to see Tucker suffer till the end, he'd drag Simmons kicking and screaming down the hall before he'd let him clean this up.

Wash sighed, "Okay... Well Caroli...na..?" he blinked at the vacant space beside him, "Is gone." he chuckled nervously, "Hey Locus, now would be a good time to show-" Locus was nowhere to be seen, "Oh boy..."

Sarge was also long gone, but really, expecting him to help clean up anything anywhere at any time would be completely insane.

The blonde shifted uncomfortably and let out a nervous laugh, "Um... Well, uh..."

"Oh, querido Dios, ¿qué nuevo infierno es esto?" (Oh, dear God, what new hell is this?)

"Lopez!" Agent freelancer cried in relief, turning to the stunned robot who had just entered the kitchen, "great timing! Tucker needs some help cleaning up-"

"Absolutamente no." (Absolutely not.) Lopez said, while his tone as always remained neutral the swiftness made it quite clear what his answer was.

The didn't stop Washington from trying. "Great! Now, why don't you-"

"No." (no)

  
          Grif held back a laugh and shot Simmons a grin. The two of them and Caboose had been slowly edging their way out of the room and were now watching the scene from just outside the door.

On a side note, the heavyset man was surprised at how quiet Caboose was being. There was a big grin peeking out from behind his hands, and he seemed to be shaking ever so slightly, probably pent-up energy if his clearly restrained shifting from foot to foot meant anything.

He did wonder, just why was Caboose playing along with them? He knew it was them, big guy had figured out he was up to something long before Tucker had even arrived. Had he known who their target was before? If he did then why basically side with them?

Caboose was a weird one... There was so much he didn't understand, even with clear instructions or explanations. But, other things, he just figured out even with next to no information. So... It could be he'd garnered some of the 'why' they were keen on harassing Tucker. Or maybe he saw the pattern of pranks and knew the target that way? Still didn't explain why he let them get away with it...

Might never know.

Now back to this five-star entertainment...

  
"Come on, Lopez." Washington half sighed, "Don't take me order you."

For a guy with no face Lopez sure managing to level a glare at the freelancer, he actually arched his back to puff out his chest like an offended human!

"Es posible que tenga una programación que limita algo de lo que puedo y no puedo hacer, pero es bastante presuntuoso de su parte pensar que puede ordenar que haga cualquier cosa." (I may have programming that limits some of what I can and cannot do, but it is rather presumptive of you to think you can order me to do anything meat bag.)

"Uh..." Wash said uncertainty.

"Además, es muy insultante que estés haciendo esto solo porque no quieres limpiar el desastre que tu estúpido acompañante claramente ha traído sobre sí mismo. si te sientes tan culpable, entonces debes hacerlo." (Also, it is very insulting that you are doing this only because you do not want to clean up the disaster that your stupid companion has clearly brought upon himself. If you feel so guilty, then you should do it.)

"Umm... So, I'm going to assume that none of that was a 'yes'?"

"¿Qué piensas?" (What do you think?)

  
          With that final, somehow sassy, comment the Hispanic robot turned on his heel and stomped off down the hall. Guess he'd decided whatever he'd gone to the kitchen for wasn't worth it? Or maybe he was looking for Sarge?

He paused only for a moment, looking at, one of them? All of them? Visors were a bitch sometimes. It was just long enough that Grif thought maybe he'd intended to say something, but then thought better of it? Probably remembered that he could be understood by one of them now.

Well, if you don't have anything nice to say...

Instead, Lopez gave a kind of metallic huff and continued on.

Grif felt Simmons' hand twitch in his, ten bucks said he was fretting about their mechanical teammate. Not sure why Simmons was so determined to befriend him, every single attempt ended in failure.

Eh, who knew?

Grif was brought back to the moment by a mildly pathetic, "Hey, I'm um... I'm gonna go find a mop? So you uh, get started, and I. Will. be. Right. Back!" from Washington a mere moment before the blonde scuttled out of the room and took off in what was decidedly the wrong direction.

The group of primary colored trio headed their own way, struggling to keep their laughter silent as Tucker's shrill cry of, "Traitor!" echoed down the halls.

  
****

  
          It was just shy of 1:30 in the morning or so when Grif wandered into the kitchen for a post-midnight, midnight, snack.

He'd been poking around in one of the cabinets for a solid minute when he heard, "Looking for something, Dexter?"

"Sweet Jesus fuck!" Grif cried, whirling around, eyes locking immediately on Carolina, who he had somehow failed to see; seated at the table, facing him, the package of Oreos he'd been looking for sitting in front of her.

Her hands were primly folded and she was looking at him with steely eyes from behind her bangs. They'd grown out a bit recently and the red was starting to lose to her natural jet black. It made her look even more intimidating than normal. An impressive feat.

Oh shit, she looked like she was going to kick his ass! Why!? What could have done to make her- hey, wait a second...

"Hold up." he said incredulously, fear momentarily set aside, "Were you sitting here alone in the dark this whole time waiting for me to come in?"

The irritation that blossomed on Carolina's face was either from embarrassment or because she was out of patience. So bad either way. Crud.

  
          "Whatever your deal with Tucker is, knock it off."

Grif swallowed nervously, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cut the shit. He's always the target and even blind people know it's you."

"Like to see you prove it," Grif mumbled, "can't be that obvious, it's not just me."

Her eyes narrowed, "So you are making Simmons help you."

Now hold on just a fucking minute!

"I'm not **making** him do anything."

Her snort showed how much she believed him, "Whatever this is, it's over, understand?"

Grif looked at the floor, "Fine..." Yeah, fucking right.

The freelancer's gaze didn't waver, "Maybe I should have a talk with Simmons then?"

"Don't you dare!" Grif growled and Carolina's eyes actually widened in surprise.

Shit. Shit, he'd actually yelled at her. Fuck! He hadn't meant to- but she couldn't go grill, Simmons! She couldn't! God, she was going to kill him wasn't she? He'd fucked up!

  
          "What's going on?" the tone of her voice, threw him a little, was that worry? Or whatever her version of worry was?

Grif gripped the edge of the counter behind him, "Nothing."

"Then you're going to stop?"

He swallowed hard and licked his lips, "No."

No point in lying, but he didn't want to do this right now. He just wanted this to be over but she wouldn't let him be!

"Why?"

He felt heat prickle along his scalp, sweat starting to form on his brow, "You don't get to ask me that."

She frowned, "And I'm not allowed to ask Simmons either?"

"No." it would kill him, he wouldn't allow it, he just got him back, he just got to be happy!

"Look Grif," her sympathetic tone make him feel ill, it sounded so false. Was that because he was so used to her anger? Or was it not genuine? "I understand okay?" no you don't, "I'm not asking you to be his friend." bullshit, "but I watched my old team destroy itself over petty competition and grudges." I bet you fucking did, "And after what happened with Temple I'd think that you'd see how ugly vengeance can make you." Temple? The temple... "So whatever it is, just let it go and-"  
+  
"Shut up!" his vision was blurring, shit, was he crying? He shouldn't say anything, but he couldn't stop! It was all going to tumble out! "You don't know what you're fucking talking about! If you think for a second he doesn't deserve this and worse you're out of your fucking mind!" not so loud, people would hear, was he that loud? His head felt fuzzy like he couldn't get enough air, "He knows what he did, he doesn't care! You don't care! None of you care! Stop acting like you do!"

Stop! Stop stop stop! If you say then she'll know! She'll know and she'll pity you! Everyone will find out and they'll tell other people and they'll make you go to a doctor and Simmons too and they'll take him away and you'll be alone like on the moon trapped on the moon and trapped in the closet and he can't leave and he's all alone and he can't do this he's sorry he's so sorry I'm sorry _I'm sorry I'm sorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry-_  
+  
"Grif!" hands grabbed his, he struggled, but Carolina was stronger and she forced him to still and somehow that shocked him back, "Grif," Carolina said again, in the manner of a person who's learned what to do but lacks the experience, somehow all he can think is that she looks lost, "you're going to hurt yourself." was he? "Breath, you're having a panic attack. Just... Take deep breaths okay?"

Grif did his best. He'd tried so hard, he'd been doing so well...

  
          There was a stretch of silence as he pulled his breathing back to something that resembled being human, he couldn't decide if he hated it or not. The silence, not the breathing.

“Shit...” he heard Carolina hiss under her breath, “What am I supposed to... I can't remember... Fuck...” She took a deep breath and leveled what was probably supposed to be a calm comforting look, but she looked so... well, uncomfortable, that it didn't exactly work. Any other time it probably would have been funny.

“What do you need me to do?” She asked softly.

Grif pulled his hands away and rubbed at his eyes, “Simmons. Go get Simmons.”

The freelancer looked torn, “Are you going to be okay by yourself?”

He gave her a baleful look and thankfully she seemed to take that as a yes, getting back up to her feet and hurrying out of the kitchen.

  
          The time she was gone was terrible, too much like when he was alone. Not this kind of alone, he reminded himself, he was alone in this room yes, but not in the building. Carolina would be back any second now, Simmons would be with her. Simmons was here. He wasn't gone. He wasn't on the moon. He wasn't by himself. It was okay. It was okay. He was okay.

 

          Grif managed to keep himself from lapsing all the way back into a panic but he was still shaking when Carolina returned, a bedraggled but alert Simmons right behind her.

The redhead didn't even bother trying to keep up any sort of pretense and rushed past the older woman, dropping to his knees, and holding his arms up slightly in an indication that if Grif could stand being touched that he was welcome.

Grif was hugging, well clinging to, him less than a second later, probably too tight, but he couldn't help it, he just needed to know that Simmons was real, if he let go then he suddenly might not be and... He did his best not to flinch too much when Simmons slowly and carefully returned the hug, pushing back against his hold a moment later, wordlessly saying that he wanted a tighter embrace. Simmons obliged.

“Fuck,” he heard Simmons say, words almost lost in his wild wavy mop of hair that he had his face buried in, “scared me half to death... She was just looming over me. I almost died.”

Grif couldn't fight the soft laugh that bubbled up in his chest, that was okay, it felt good, made him feel more here and less there.

“I'm here.” Next was the reassurance, “I've got you, you're okay. Let me know what you need okay?”

Grif hid his face against Simmons' shoulder, feeling tears prickling at his eyes again. Stupid eyes... Cry once and they think they need to do it for the rest of the day for any reason at all.

How did Simmons do that? Make him feel normal again with a shitty joke, some simple words, and a hug? It always took him so much longer to do the same when it was Simmons who was in pain. Guy was so fucking strong and he didn't even know... He carried around a lifetime of misery and now had all the horrors of the last decade and a half, but somehow he always got back up. Even when he broke down and cried for days, even when he'd taken to breaking mirrors, even when he'd been hurt, sick, had half his body stolen and the empty space jammed with metal and computer parts...

He loved him so much.

“I'm okay.” Grif finally said, “I just need a minute... or two. Give me a sec...”

“Take all the time you need.”

“Don't let me do that. We'll end up sleeping on the floor.”

Simmons laughed quietly, “It **is** fridge adjacent.”

“Good real estate.”

He felt Simmons smile against the top of his head.

  
          Grif had almost forgotten about Carolina when she suddenly spoke, her voice was quiet, and there was something about it, in the tone maybe? It sounded... Hollow? Not defeated... Not sad... but something like that. “You really can't, or won't, tell me?”

“Yeah.” Simmons stiffened a little, at her question, his answer was a little strained, but he didn't seem like he was going to freak out. He did move his mechanical hand to rest on the back of Grif's neck, the fingers spreading a weird manner that a regular hand probably couldn't do without pain. A couple of fingers were pressing lightly against his skin, his thumb was still against the back of his neck, moving very faintly in a slight pattern.

Grif felt his chest swell. Simmons was checking his vitals, not because he thought he was in trouble, well anymore so than before, but for comfort. He'd done similar a couple times before when he'd been where Grif was, holding his wrist or putting his hand over where his heart was. Apparently, the sensors in the limb could pick it up very easily, Simmons had said it made him feel better.

And his thumb wasn't moving at random, it was tracing his tattoo, that stupid one he'd gotten as a teen. The one Simmons had an estranged sibling of engraved on the back of his own neck.

Crap, he was getting too sappy, he'd start bawling if he wasn't careful.

  
          “What am I supposed to do? How can I help if I don't know...?” She asked helplessly.

Simmons' hand stilled, he was silent for a few seconds, even though he couldn't see him Grif knew he was probably biting his lip.

“I...” He paused, “I don't know... I don't think there's anything you could do, and if you didn't already know then I don't think it would help to explain it to you. Sorry.”

“That's not a real answer!” Carolina challenged, “And I don't care if you think I couldn't understand. I don't...” She licked her lips and huffed, making a clutching gesture with one hand as she struggled to put her stressful feelings into words, “I don't like _this_ , seeing things like this and not being able to do anything. I know you think I'm full of shit, fuck, maybe I am, but I wasn't lying when I said my team fell apart Grif. I was blind to it then, but looking back on it I wish I had done something, and it-!” She seemed to deflate, and Grif actually felt sorry for her, she didn't look like a big scary ex-super soldier, she just looked... tired. Just a tired sad, normal (as one could be) woman. Somehow she looked so small, “Is there really nothing you can tell me? _Anything_?”

Grif looked up as Simmons pulled back a bit, locking eyes with him, he swallowed hard at the unasked question and nodded shakily. Okay. They could do this. Simmons' hands slid from his shoulders and silently held Grif's own, he could feel them shaking a little, but the redhead still squeezed his firmly.

“We said... _We weren't going to talk about it_.” he said quietly.

Was that enough? If it was, did they want it to be? Would it be okay?

“So no?” She actually sounded a little heartbroken, “I don't understand... What could he have possibly done to cause-”

Carolina paused, brow furrowing in thought. The more open smallness rapidly dissipated and the calculating intensity that had undoubtedly put her at the top took its place. She put her fist to her mouth, “But... why would that be?” she worried at her lip, “That doesn't make sense... why would you be this angry? You spend the whole time locked-”

She cut herself off again, this time she didn't pause. She froze.

Grif watched as her hand slowly lowered, her head slowly raised, and her eyes slowly widened.

She stared unblinkingly at a point on the other side of the room.

“Oh my god...” she said barely above a whisper, “I'm a fucking idiot. You must think I'm some kind of-” she took a sharp breath and blinked rapidly, Simmons would later tell him about the bright sheen that had been there briefly, the wetness that had gathered that she'd, even now, forced away.

She gripped the edge of the table with one hand, knuckles white with the fierceness of it, in contrast, her voice was almost wispy when she spoke, “I think... I'm going to call Kimball.”

Grif stiffened, he felt Simmons do the same. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he felt his cold sweat return. His heart jumped painfully. No. No no no. That was the absolute WORST thing she could do! How could they have been so stupid!? Getting pulled in by the rare reveal of her personal feelings and throwing her a bone. This is why they'd said they wouldn't talk about it! This was why they were going to deal with it on their own! They'd decided! God damn it they were so stupid!

“Don't-” he choked out.

Please, please don't tell her. They'll be sent away, separated, they'll drag them to doctors and lock them up!

  
          “But it's stupid, don't you think?” the freelancer said rapidly finally looking back at them, her eyes were still a little far away but there was a wildness in them that he didn't know what to make of right now. He heard Simmons take a sharp breath, he must have seen or picked up something there. “It's completely pointless to try and make someone with no income pay alimony isn't it?”

That... was not what he'd expected her to say...

“Even if he did, there's just no way it would cover those many people!” She continued, “So, in the end, the government would have to support them, I mean it already is, but even more so with a child. So if that's the case then shouldn't there be some other consequence?”

Where was this going?

She snapped her fingers, dumping energy as she constructed her thought aloud, “If you can't pay... You normally do community service right? Right? You pay it back in labor, that's how it goes? Right? Simmons?”

“S-sometimes?” the cyborg answered.

“Doctor Grey.” a positively serpentine smile spread across her face, “She probably needs an assistant or two, doesn't she? Now that the war is over she has even more work. People who have injuries from fighting who they couldn't treat properly before. People get hurt even during clean up, those mercenary assholes left all kinds of nasty shit behind, landmines and traps and- Not to mention there are a lot of people in the recovery wards. People who need therapy... Relearning to walk, or dealing with mental trauma. They're probably in desperate need of another pair of hands. Don't you think?”

She took the step and a half over to them and crouched down to be level with them and look them properly in the eye. “Would that be enough? Having Kimball put him on community service there?”

There was no 'if' in that sentence. Carolina wasn't going to ask, she was going to tell, and she wouldn't be denied.

“I don't know.” he heard Simmons say shakily, “If he went-”

“He _is_ going. I'm going to do it anyway, I can't not. But when that happens, is that going to help you?” the sympathy and sadness seeped back into her expression again, “I'm not talking about forgiveness. That's not a thing I have a right to ask you to do and that's not how that works anyway. What I mean is, you shouldn't have to feel miserable trying to get justice. _Is this going to help_?”

Simmons took a stuttered shaky break, and Grif saw the tears spill over the right side of his face, his shoulders shaking as he slowly built up towards open sobbing. Grif managed to be slightly more composed, but that didn't stop his own tears from falling.

“Yeah.” he choked out.

Carolina looked relieved, “I... am so sorry. I should have realized sooner.” her face reddened ever so slightly, “I'm not good with... this. It... bothers me. That's still no excuse.”

  
          Grif risked letting go of Simmons' hand so he could grab Carolina and pull her into a one-armed hug. She went stiff when he did it but relaxed ever so slightly so he figured he could get away with it this time.

“Thank you.” he said softly before letting her go again, “You can go to bed now. We'll be okay. We just need a minute and then we'll get back to bed too. Okay?”

“You're sure?” Carolina asked, was that an actual embarrassed blush on her face? That lifted his spirits considerably!

Simmons nodded tearfully, rubbing his human eye, “Yeah. Don't worry. I don't want to sleep on the floor. Just a breather to get back to normal.”

She nodded back hesitantly, “Okay. I'll take your word for it.” she got back to her feet, moving slightly towards the door, “First thing in the morning I'm calling. Don't let me forget.”

“We won't.”

She nodded again and headed for the door, where she looked at them one last time, “And if you still want to prank him, Just... don't be so obvious or messy? Okay?” Then she was gone.

  
          They sat there in silence for a minute or two and Grif was surprised to find it felt less oppressive than it had before.

“I don't know how to feel. Do you think it will work?” Simmons asked him, “If he really is punished, that we won't... be like this?”

Grif frowned, “I don't know... This might be permanent, whether we like it or not.”

Simmons hummed sadly.

“But,” Grif continued, “I think that maybe if it does help, we'll be able to... I don't know... focus on us?” he felt his face heat up.

“Oh,” Simmons said in quiet surprise, “I uh...” he flushed and smiled shyly, “I think I'd like that...”

Grif let himself smile goofily, like the giant sap he just was now or had always been. Who knew?

“I am still going to prank him, simple stuff though, for funsies.”

Simmons grinned, “If you do, I'll help.”

TBC


	2. Let's go Dissociate in the Bread Aisle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People who think 3 am is real are fucking liars, because 3 am is not a time, it is another dimension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings, just fluff, mild angst, and long flowery descriptions by the author, trying to convey a specific feeling/atmosphere.

 

  
          Simmons was awake.

He didn't want to be, he shouldn't be, but he was.

He sighed, rolling over in bed for the umpteenth time. He told himself that it was to get comfortable but that wasn't the issue.

He just wasn't sleepy.

Tired sure. He'd been up bright and early, gone on his morning jog, helped Sarge with a project. Well... less helped, because, hell if he knew what the older man was trying to make, more made sure that he didn't build a bomb by mistake. He'd also spent a great deal of time cleaning the place up. It wasn't in terrible shape but there was still debris laying around, broken furniture, seemingly endless dust and dirt, some rooms were missing windows, a whole wing they couldn't go into, stuff like that.

Simmons huffed, rolling onto his back again.

Damn it. He hated when this happened. He'd always been prone to sleeping poorly, (permanent bruises under his eyes probably made that agonizingly obvious) he felt tired a lot, even when he got the rare full eight hours. Sometimes though he'd just lay awake the whole night through. If he was lucky maybe he'd doze off for an hour or two, but then he'd just snap back awake and end up staring at the ceiling trying to fight the urge to look at the clock and see just how nightmarish-ly late it was.

Not that he needed to do that now.

Nope, he always knew what time it was. Off in the back of his brain, automatic, noticed only when you suddenly remembered it was there. Like breathing.

2:44:46 am, 0244:46...  
47  
48  
49  
50  
51  
52  
53  
54  
5-

Simmons groaned and flipped onto his stomach, pulling his pillow over his head, despite knowing full well it wasn't going to do anything.

58  
59  
0245:00  
01  
02  
03  
04

The redhead whined in frustration and sat up. This wasn't going to happen, was it?

09  
10  
11

His gaze fell to the currently empty space next to him.

Grif was still up. Maybe he could help him? He was a master of sleeping anywhere at any time after all. Or maybe he could think of a good distraction until his stupid janky body and stupid janky brain realized they should be asleep? At the very least Simmons could occupy himself until he finally passed out. If he was going to be up anyway and all that.

 

*****

 

          Simmons padded along the hall searching for his wayward boyfriend. Well, that might be a bit overdramatic. He knew where Grif was, only three places here besides their bedrooms: the kitchen, the roof, and the living room. Well, there was the entryway and stairs, a couple of storage closets too, but somehow he highly doubted that's where Grif would be, especially the latter option.

Call it a hunch.

He peeked in the kitchen as he went by, finding no one. Lights had been left on, so probably meant Grif had been here.

Simmons rolled his eyes, reaching into the room to flick the lights off, before making a beeline for the living room.

  
In this case, second time turned out to be the charm. Grif was sprawled out on the couch, clearly not actually watching the TV, given it was playing some random earth talk show and the circle of perky forty-something women and two _needlessly_ camp men were talking about...the proper way to apply bronzer? Instead, Grif was tapping away on his phone. Judging by the way he was holding it and the reflected light in changing hues that danced faintly across his face, Simmons would have to guess he was playing a game. The intense look of focus seemed to support that and the quiet curse under his breath confirmed it.

The Hawaiian looked up when Simmons padded over, expression going from irritation to pleased when he registered who it was. His eyes flicked back to the screen long enough to tap it. (And presumably, pause whatever he was playing.)

With a grunt, Grif pulled himself into a somewhat seated position. Still lounging and lazy, but that was Grif, be weird if he didn't.

"Hey Sinnamon," he greeted with a half stretch, Simmons felt his face flush at the pet name, "what's up? Thought you were going to bed?"

The Dutch-Irishman sighed, "I was. I mean- I tried, I guess I just can't."

Grif hummed in sympathy, "That's a pain in the ass. Brain won't shut up? Something bugging you?"

Simmons shrugged, "Not sure? I don't think I'm over thinking anything... At least nothing outside of the norm,” He laughed awkwardly, “I just can't seem to do it, I've been awake this whole time."

He got another hum in reply and Grif took out his headphones and tossed his phone (and by proxy said headphones) to the side, before holding out his arms, "Mmmm, com'ere baby."

The taller man blushed but did as he was told, moving close enough for Grif to loop an arm around his middle and pull him down, sideways, into his lap.

Despite feeling embarrassed Simmons couldn't stop a contented sigh from escaping as he snuggled automatically into the embrace. He half buried his face in the space between Grif's neck and shoulder, it was a little bit awkward because he was so tall, but that was fine, it was nice just to be the one held.

He hummed as Grif ran his fingers through his short, faintly curly hair, feeling the slight pressure of Grif's cheek as he rested it on the top of his head. Simmons settled his cybernetic hand against Grif's chest, smiling softly as the sensors inside picked up his boyfriend's heartbeat, crisp and clear, the vibration deep, slow, and steady. Centering.

Grif had a strong heart.

  
          Like really, he did, and Simmons wasn't saying that because at one point the organ in question had been his. He wasn't trying to say anything so arrogant as that! Besides, it wasn't his anymore! It had been once but it wasn't now so... That made sense, right? Though he supposed in the grand scheme of things he'd been the best shot Grif could have gotten? A person's dimensions could demand a stronger heart, if you were very tall or very heavy the heart needed to work harder to get blood around your body. So if you had a weak heart or one that just couldn't keep up you could suffer complications, or even die!

So maybe getting Simmons' heart had been a lucky break for Grif? If he'd gotten someone like Donut, who was rather petite, he might have ended up sick all the time. Bedridden and not in any way the larger man would have enjoyed. Really it was astronomically astonishing that they had even been compatible enough for an organ transplant in the first place!

But yeah, that's not what he meant really. Over time Grif really had seemed to get stronger, healthier. Simmons was relieved, after the operation he'd accepted what he thought was inevitable, that Grif would ruin the donated organs and tissue and they would become as sickly as his originals had been, or they'd be rejected by his body and eventually, he would...

Simmons was glad he'd been wrong.

He wasn't sure when exactly he'd started really paying attention to Grif's health, at least in the only ways he really could. There was the obvious observing him or making physical contact, just picking up on surface level information that anyone could see really, sort of... But there were other ways too...

See, anyone who wore combat armor like them had to have a chip implanted near the base of their skulls that allowed them to use said armor properly. You could get seriously hurt trying to use even the semi-crappy ones they had if you didn't. Basic strength enhancements alone could break every bone in your body if you weren't connected to them, for example.

But that wasn't all. They allowed for hands-free activation of the suits meager functions, let you see the HUD overlay, use the radio, track teammate status, and so on. The chips weren't unprotected per say, but like many electronics, they did openly broadcast their existence to anything that could pick them up, if you had the right equipment you could link up and access the information they had. Like Doc's scanner. Or apparently, fax machine parts...?

Or whatever else had been used to make him a cyborg... Best not dwell...

But somewhere along the way, he'd started paying attention more and more when he'd get pinged, by Grif's chip specifically. Most of the time the worst that would happen was a more intimate view of his status, things like pulse and blood pressure, sugar levels, stress, etc... He tried not to do it, he really did, it seemed like such an invasion of privacy, you know? But sometimes, especially when he was worried, he'd accidentally accept it's almost maniac queries and get sudden huge chunks of information. Some of it he could understand, but some of it just seemed like nonsense, though he would find himself feeling worried by some bits and delighted by others. He could only assume his systems read it in a way he couldn't and were just translating that into a feeling or something. They did seem to like checking up on Grif too, it always gave him a contented feeling.

Over time his systems had been keeping track of changes, but had noted major ones recently, claiming sudden shifts at 3 points; when they were on the moon, when they'd been reunited, and shortly after taking up residence here. He wasn't sure what the information it threw at him meant though. He knew some stuff about the body but he was no doctor so the data was kind of useless. He did feel inexplicably positive about the present set though.

  
          "How you feeling?" Grif asked a few minutes later, bringing him out of his musings.

Simmons sighed, "Good. Not tired though, sorry."

"Hmm..." the larger man seemed to ponder something, then he grinned, which could be good or bad for him.

Grif playfully tapped the metal plate over his temple, "The time is?"

"3:12 am and 53 seconds." Simmons automatically replied, before blushing in embarrassment and pouting at Grif, "Hey!"

The larger man broke out into giggles, "Multipurpose boyfriend." he stole a kiss to quell the redhead's protests, "It's like I made you in a computer."

Simmons huffed but grinned despite himself, stealing a kiss of his own, "What does the time have to do with anything?"

"Because that means it's time for a 3 am food run!" came the reply, accompanied by Grif prodding him in his side, delighting in Simmons' indignant squawked laughter as he squirmed and tried to bat his hand away ineffectually, the angle too unhelpful.

"But I'm not hungry!" Simmons said, still trying to evade the playful harassment.

"Pft, nah man, that's not what I mean." Grif seemed to contemplate for a moment, "I could totally go for a snack right now though. But you know me." he said with a grin.

Simmons opened his mouth to retort, but what he'd planned to say turned instead to a half shrieking burst of new laughter when his keen-eyed boyfriend spotted an opening and darted in to blow a _raspberry_ against the juncture of his ear and jaw!

What were they? _Five_?!

They must have been, because Simmons kicked out reflexively, his foot connecting with the arm of the couch, and the two of them toppled over like a pair of wrestling cats.

He was still laughing even while he caught his breath and took stock of their new arrangement. He was mostly flat out on his back, Grif was wedged between him and the back of the couch, and probably the only reason he hadn't fallen off said couch was because Grif had maintained his hold and was half wrapped around him like some sort of sloth koala hybrid. He craned his neck enough so he could peer at his boyfriend from the corner of his eye, he could feel him shaking with silent laughter and was pleased to see his grin peeking out from where most of his head was hidden from view by Simmons' own shoulder.

The redhead sighed contentedly, settling his head back into a more comfortable position, "So," he asked breathlessly, "if it's not to eat, then what is it?"

The Hawaiian hummed a sort of 'aha', "Poor Simmons, you've never gone on a 3 am run at all? I'm talking food shopping my dude."

That gave the cyborg pause, "Food shopping?"

"Yeah, you've been trying to get everyone to give you a list all week. You were gonna do it tomorrow, right? You're up, so why not do it now? I mean it is tomorrow."

Simmons frowned in confusion, "But... Sorry for sounding skeptical, but, doesn't that constitute work? I didn't expect you to suggest that."

Grif propped himself up partially, enough so Simmons could see him shrug, "Nah, you'd be right normally. But it's not when it's 3."

"I don't understand."

"Aw man, now we have to go." Grif declared, "Come on," he said, starting to untangle them, "Go get your list. You're gonna love this, I promise."

Simmons couldn't help but smile, "Okay."

 

*****

 

          He did indeed go get his list, which was a combination of everyone else's lists, which he had yet to fully go over and edit down into something sane. Whatever, he could do it on the fly.

He tried not to feel self-conscious as they made their way down the stairs and out to the lone warthog parked out front. He was still in his pajamas (sleep pants with little atoms on them), Grif had only allowed him to grab shoes and a hoodie. Something about, 'doing it right'.

He'd have felt more comfortable in his armor, to be honest....

But that was that and they were off on the road.

  
          Simmons had to admit the cool night air felt good as it whipped past them and toyed with his hair, and the hum of the engine was kind of nice, but he couldn't figure out what he was supposed to be taking from all this. Grif had talked about it like it was something special, and he didn't disbelieve him. But...

"What am I supposed to do?" he finally asked.

He heard Grif chuckle, "Nothing."

"I don't understand," Simmons admitted, frustration tingeing his voice.

"You're over thinking it," Grif told him, "Don't worry. I'll help you out." he gestured with one hand, "Look, like really look," okay, but look at what? There wasn't anything to see, wasn't even anyone up, "listen, what do you hear?" other than the engine? Nothing.

Grif pulled up to a stop at a lone and worn stop sign (with only four bullet holes in it!) but didn't make a move to go through right away.

"Doesn't it feel," the larger man said quietly, " _like the end of the world?_ "

Huh?

"Like we're the only two people in the **entire** universe?"

...oh... Oh!

In retrospect, Simmons would bet anything that Grif had given him a shit eating grin when he heard the cyborg take a sharp breath but he wasn't looking at him right now.

He was looking, really looking, really listening, even as Grif finally pulled through the intersection.

  
          It was the same street they'd gone up several times before, even at night, but it was different now. It might as well not even be the same street, same planet, same universe.

The street stretched onward and while it wasn't just a straight line, it somehow felt endless. Like, just out of range of their headlights there was no road like it was just appearing out of nothingness as they drove. The moon was nearly full above them, obscured only by a faint whisper of clouds, it shone so brightly but it didn't seem to actually reach the ground. Rather it seemed to toy with objects, glinting off of surfaces, creating faint edges around bits of wall or the hood of the Warthog, creating shapes and suggestions of shapes, and it felt almost like it was shining only on the area where they were driving and nowhere else. It almost seemed alive. There were so many stars too, faded near the horizon from the lights of the slowly growing new capital city, still too far from here to see. Looking up made Simmons feel dizzy, like the sky was alive too, that he might make _something_ angry and be swallowed up by the vastness of space if he stared for too long.

Chorus was a work in progress so some parts of it clashed with others.

There were a few streetlights dotting the sides of the road, looming over where there may or may not still be sidewalk. They beamed down a dim orange light, on occasion one of them was flickering or barely lit, one or two were off altogether, and there were lone patches of pitch black where their polls had once been but had fallen and later been cleared away. Those places seemed somehow less real like they weren't just shadows, but something else entirely, something that made your imagination churn.

The section of road they were on now was a patchwork of old and new asphalt. It was littered with cracks and fissures, some from combat, some just from time and temperature change. In places, a spider web of broken pavement, the occasional pothole, or the still more common crater, roped off and covered with hurried warnings.

The buildings Simmons could make out in the darkness were mostly old apartments or houses, some still too damaged to be used, some in the process of being rebuilt, some just ruins in strange square spaces. All over the place were signs that nature had begun reclaiming some of them. Waist high swaths of grass, vines and ivy consuming walls and other structures, Chorus' creepily quick growing titanic trees, spearing up through roofs and at one point right the fuck out of the street!

And everything was so still.

There wasn't a soul on the road, but Grif was still stopping at every stop sign, he even stopped at a lone red light for a minute and a half before it became obvious wasn't going to change.

_After certain times, late at night, lights become stop signs._

  
          It threw Simmons a bit that Grif seemed to have turned into him and was now strictly following rules for a road that didn't really have them, enforcing a speed limit on a road without one. He decided that Grif was doing it for his benefit, and probably himself too, so they could savor this suddenly alien world.

And god did it feel surreal... He'd felt his hair prickle the moment he'd finally seen all this the way Grif had wanted him to. Even now he still felt pins and needles dance along his scalp, tingling not quite chills not really shivers trailing along his back, between his shoulder blades.

The whole world felt impossible. The primitive human in the back of his head sent out weak cries of fear, whispering of centuries-old terror of the dark, of the now DNA deep knowledge of what could lurk there. But, somehow that danced over the line and the adrenaline in his veins was making him feel excited instead of afraid. His cyborg parts were absolutely thrilled by this predicament, tripping over the conflicting input in a feedback loop that had him feeling giddy.

No wonder people said that 3 am wasn't real. They weren't really joking, were they? It felt like right here, right now, anything could happen like the world was hanging on the entirety of potentiality.

Every odd shadow felt like it was some Lovecraftian creature, some titan that ignored the laws of the universe and might at any moment get up and step, uninterested and uncaring, over them and be on its way. Like they were going to round the corner and find some group of inexplicably in the know children, facing down some dark secret humanity couldn't see. Or some not quite human phantasm might flag them down at the next intersection looking for a lift.

3 am was where fiction, and fantasy, sci-fi, and horror, came from. Where the human psyche lived. **How** had he not know this? _How had he never done this!?_

He felt so insignificant and small, but in contrast also hyper-aware and connected to something impossibly big, and he wanted to bottle that feeling up and keep it forever.

Without even thinking the cyborg gripped the edge of the windshield and hauled himself to his feet, looking around him and taking it all in.

A slight slowing down brought his view back to the man driving and he saw him flicking his gaze between him and the road.

"Grif!" Simmons chirped, "Grif!" he repeated joyfully, from lack of any other actual words to convey anything at the moment, he tried to do a sweeping, 'look at this!', motion with just his shoulders, still enough in his right mind to know that if he let go and they hit a bump or something he would fall the fuck out and break himself to pieces on the road.

Grif beamed at him, "Just wait until we get to the store. Gets better."

Simmons was about to ask 'HOW?!' but was distracted by a single person in standard Chorus issued armor, just sort of.... Hanging out, in front of what was or had been a store of some sort, with a single yellow light shining out of a small featureless window on the second floor.

He stared at them, probably grinning like a doofus, as they drove by.

Why was that just the best fucking set piece ever!?

  
*****

  
          Grif's promise of the store did not disappoint. 

Whether it had originally been a store or was just a warehouse that was being converted was up for debate. But the inside was made up almost entirely of the store floor, a wide open space, that at some point would be a full-fledged grocery store with row upon row of shelves and sections for different sorts of foodstuffs and basic home supplies.

It was a sharp contrast to the outside. Out there had been dark and carried the unsettling feeling of the unknown hidden in plain sight. Somehow this was strangely the same despite the differences. For one it was **bright** , long halogen lights humming and buzzing away on the ceiling of the vast space, giving the occasional electrical fade and flicker that was just kind of everywhere now. What had been normal or even dim light during the day now seemed unnaturally blinding and the artificial bluish tinge seemed almost oppressive. Besides the lights it was mostly covered up with the expected foam ceiling tiles, open gaps dotted it, however, places where work was still being done, some wires and cables peeking or half hanging out, but pitch black besides. The walls, at least most of them, were painted a snappy crisp white that seemed even more impossibly bright with the lights on, dark pine green lines accenting and marking where certain areas would eventually be. Meticulously spotless and shiny tiles on the floor, that made the most satisfying sound when you walked on them, normally unheard but faintly echoing in the mostly empty building.

At the moment though, a great deal of it was sort of walled off with a row of shelves, reducing the space considerably. But, if you looked through the cracks you could see the rest of the store; still clearly under construction. In some places the lights were out, the walls distressed and degraded, the tile pulled up, rough concrete and patterned patches of old glue scattered about like pockmarks or in large swaths like some animal shedding its skin. A portion of the wall boasted a gutted facade, a pile of old and filthy insulation off to the side, a blackness scattered across it echoed in the nearby wall where it seemed there had, at a point long past, been a fire. Most of the char was cleared away and replaced with new boards and supports, but the smears and stains were still visible. There was a hole in the floor a ways back as well, a ladder poking out and a set of tools, large pipes, and what looked to be electrical equipment piled nearby.

On the whole, though, it was just... Empty. All the way back looking like it could just go on forever, even though you could clearly see the far wall. Somehow that was the most intense thing about it. That you could glimpse it through the cracks in the shelving kind of made it feel almost like you were looking in on something you shouldn't.

What might actually push it just one step farther was how desolately empty the entire place was, not a single other shopper to be seen. Or heard.

As previously mentioned, this meant that the actual active part of the store was relatively small, not cramped, but not wholly large either. It boasted a small, sparse, produce section, and the aforementioned rows of shelves that held packaged products. Near the front, several rows of checkout counters, but only the one on the far end had a register, the employee tending it presumably somewhere else in the store.

Distantly above them, some kind of music played faintly, it was... pop maybe? Hard to tell, file seemed to be corrupted, it skipped and stuttered every once and a while.

"Grif?" Simmons asked quietly, "Why am I having an out of body experience in a grocery store?"

"Because it's 3 am."

Oh but of course.

"I see."

He must have made an entertaining face because Grif snickered at him, "Aw don't be like that baby." he looped an arm around his cyborg's shoulder tilting his head playfully to look up at him, murmuring in a tone better suited to seduction, "Let's go dissociate in the bread aisle."

The redhead felt a smile tug on his lips and warmth swell in his chest. Leaning down he slipped his own arm around Grif's middle, gently pressing his forehead against his boyfriend's temple, "I love you." he said softly.

Grif blushed, like actually full on blushed, and Simmons felt fleetingly mad he'd been missing that all these years, due to stubbornness and the wearing of helmets.

"Come on," Simmons entreated, pulling away but allowing his hand to slide down and entwine with Grif's, "let's grab a cart and see what we can get, okay?"

Grif smiled almost shyly and nodded.

  
          One cart later they were standing in the produce section, Grif leaning on the cart's push bar, watching Simmons look from the data pad in his hands to the selection of fresh stuff, brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of what he'd been given.

Caboose seemed to have misunderstood what he'd said, his list was composed almost entirely of things he **didn't** want. The word Broccoli had been typed out three times, each underlined and the last one had a strike through it. Peas had also been underlined. At the very bottom, however, was the word 'Apples!' with a smile emote next to it.

Sarge's was mildly helpful, it listed four things; beer, potatoes, meat, and BBQ sauce. Each with an amount in weight next to them. It was there and beyond it stopped being helpful, as the amounts were well past what was reasonable. (A drum of BBQ sauce? A keg of beer? Really?!) under the list was a rushed run on paragraph that seemed to be one part recipe for beer battered BBQ chicken and one part rant about military excellence comparing the Reds to the Blues based on how much meat they consumed. Or Sarge apparently _thought_ they consumed, as it was highly unlikely any one of them could single-handedly eat an entire cow.

Donut's was a mess and contained numerous things that Simmons was pretty sure he couldn't have even gotten in a store on Earth, let alone here. It looked like he'd just kept adding things as he thought of them, mostly health food.

Tucker's was cringe-worthy. Just the words, 'beer' and 'condoms' with a winky face next to it.

Fantastic.

Washington's was a breath of fresh air, he'd separated it into produce and not like he'd asked. It was mostly basic things, probably written with both team's needs in mind. It was kind of touching actually. At the bottom he'd typed, 'chocolate?' and it somehow read so shyly that Simmons decided instantly that he couldn't refuse it.

Carolina's was also organized but seemed to contain rather large requests for various 'superfoods' and vitamins. He was pretty sure that the latter had to be directly requested from the planet's medical staff so she'd probably put them on here because Gray had told her no, and she was hoping to scoot around that

Locus' list almost brought him to tears. Not only was it broken down into produce and non, it was broken down by food group and product use and each category was arranged in order of most to least needed/wanted. It even had notes and suggestions about what could be best kept and what would last and their nutritional value.

Locus had to go with them next time. Could he convince him? Maybe. Grif would probably have more luck.

Strangely Lopez had also given him a list. Just one thing.

Oranges.

Well... Okay?

"Why is it," the maroon sim-trooper groused, "that out of everyone it's only the freelancers, Locus, and flipping Lopez, who wrote these out like I asked them to?"

Grif huffed, "I didn't hear my name in there. I didn't give you a bad list."

"That's because you didn't give me a list at all." Simmons snarked.

"That's because you know what I like so I don't need to make one."

The redhead laughed, "That's fair." he frowned, "Carolina wants an unholy amount of kale..."

Grif balked, "Gross! Who eats kale?"

Simmons swiped to check her list against another, "Donut. He's asked for some too, and Spinach. Bunch of stuff... I think Carolina wanted Spinach too..."

"Oh god, they're going to make health smoothies and shit aren't they?" the Hawaiian cringed, "Carolina 'll make us drink it! Simmons, I don't wanna! You can't buy it!"

"Not sure if I could if I wanted to." Simmons hummed, looking around at the displays, "There isn't a lot here." he squinted, "Why the hell does Donut want a gallon of _Chlorophyll_? Does that even come in...? The fuck...?"

"Probably just bs health scam crap."

Simmons glowered at the net tab he'd opened, "It's just ground up parsley in water!"

"Health scam crap." Grif nodded sagely, "See that's why I don't bother, it's all bullshit anyway."

"That's not much better." Simmons chided. "It might actually be easier to just pick from whatever is here and hope it's on someone's list..."

"Oo, less work! I'm rubbing off on you!" The larger man wiggled his eyebrows.

Simmons snorted and looked around. Let's see... Lots of potatoes, those usually kept really well and survived transport the best. He wasn't going to get the near metric ton Sarge wanted though, a large bag would suffice.

Besides, potatoes really were good for you. Packed full of vitamins and healthy starches. They kept for a good while if stored properly, could be made into any number of things, and went with almost all other foods.

And, no, he wasn't just reading the notes on Locus' list! He knew all those things too! It was just really nice to know it wasn't just him who kept track of all this!

What else... Sorry to disappoint Carolina and Donut, no Kale, no spinach.

Lettuce though.

Probably couldn't make a smoothy out of that huh?

Oh hey! Tomatoes! Wow, how had they gotten these? Fickle and hard to grow if he remembered right. Hard to transport too. Must have just come in, they'd be gone by end of the day tomorrow for sure.

Let's see... They had... One, two, three... Nine people. So he could nab 10. Big bag, but not too bad.

What else... Oh, there were onions, could they do something with those? Huh, oddly not on Cabooses list. He'd grab four, maybe could do some kind of stir-fry? Put it pasta?

"Oh my crap, hey Simmons?!"

The redhead hummed turning to look, "Yeah?"

"Check this out," Grif hefted up a plastic wrapped package to get his attention, "peppers!" sure enough inside were four bell peppers, one red, one yellow, one orange, one green.

"Do you like peppers?" Simmons asked catching the pack when Grif chucked it, to keep it from smashing on the metal cart.

"Yeah," the heavier man replied with a shrug, "for like barbecue, luaus, Mexican food and shit." he surveyed the cart's contents, "Aw man, lettuce, tomato, onions? Fuck I want Tacos now."

Simmons started for a half second when he felt Grif's arms encircle his waist, having been focused on contemplating the cucumbers and zucchini and trying to decide if it was worth it with Donut in the equation. Warmth blossomed along the length of his back as Grif pressed himself against it, laying his head on the back of his neck.

" _Siiiiimons_ ," he whined, "Diiiiick, I want _Tacooooos_!"

The cyborg's cheeks flushed a slight pink and he smiled softly. Public displays of affection (well public displays of anything really) always made him self-conscious. Grif seemed to feel the same, but was also the sort of person who would sneak them when the coast was clear.

Like now. Obviously.

" _Tacoooooos_?" he parroted, enjoying the warm embrace, he held up the two vegetables he'd been mulling over, feeling Grif shift to rest his chin on one of his shoulders so he could look at the offered foods.

"Yeah," the Hawaiian replied, voice mildly strained from the position he was in, but softer and slightly gravely due to his close proximity, "We should make some. We've got most of the basics already. There's corn over there." he hummed at the two vegetables in front of him, "Those are fine. You're gonna make me eat salad aren't you?"

"I'm not going to make you eat it. It's not bad for you though." Simmons retorted, "Besides, you can put dressing on it, we actually have that." he frowned, "Unfortunately, what we don't have are Taco shells."

Grif made a mournful sound, shifting a bit as Simmons put two cucumbers and three zucchini in some bags, "We can order some right? We do that for other stuff."

"Yeah, we can. Gonna be a week at least though."

"But I want them _now_!" Grif fake sobbed, " _Simmons_ , it's not fair!"

The redhead smiled fondly, "You really want them that bad?"

" _Yeeeees_."

He hummed, been a good while but he was pretty sure he remembered how to do it... "Still got that bag of tortilla chips?"

"I have two..." Grif replied hesitantly, voice one part suspicious one part hopeful, " _Why_?"

"Well it's not Tacos but, how about Taco soup?"

Grif perked, "Taco soup?"

"Yeah, it's all the ingredients in beef broth, you put shredded cheese and broken up chips on top when you eat it."

"Whaaaaaaat!?" Grif squeaked gleefully, "When did you learn that?"

Simmons laughed, "Final year of Middle school, Home Ec. Learned how to make a taco bake dip too."

"What is thaaaaat?!"

"Sort of the same thing. You cook the beef, and any vegetables you wanted to be cooked, mix it all up, put it in a casserole dish, cover the top in like a metric ton of shredded cheese. Pop it in the oven until the all the cheese melts. Then you just scoop it up with Tortilla Chips, or just eat it with a spoon."

He could see Grif gaping over his shoulder, "How am I just now hearing about this!? Why didn't you say you could cook!?"

Simmons blushed, "Well because I can't, like not really. All I can make is like easy snack stuff. I guess I'm kind of good at baking? But, that's just because baking is a science."

Grif returned his head to its original position against Simmons' neck. The cyborg felt him grin, "What did you bake? Anything good?"

Simmons pondered as he half shuffled down the row of food to grab the corn Grif had mentioned before, already pre-bagged in sets of eight, he grabbed two, "Um, we had to make pies once... Everyone else took their stuff before me so I uh... Made a pineapple pie."

Grif snorted, "You're lying."

"Because you're Hawaiian?"

"Mhmm, how insensitive of you." Grif teased.

"I really did though. It was the only one no one wanted to eat. I ate it by myself." Simmons shrugged, "I thought it was pretty good..."

Grif laughed quietly, "Of course. Jesus fucking Christ." he started swaying slowly in time with the music way off above them, making his boyfriend sway too, "Oh man is it awful that I can picture it? Poor little Sinnamon, taller than all the other kids, all sticks, still had the little cinnamon face. Just standing there all sad with a tiny little pie."

"Not that far off. Only it was a full-sized pie and it was on the table, and you forgot my oversize sweatshirt."

"Jesus, what were you the freakin' little matchstick girl? What else did you bake?"

"I made a chocolate cake with peppermint frosting. A little undercooked in the middle. No one wanted to eat that either."

Grif glowered, "Did the kids in your class just like hate joy or something?"

"Nah, they just thought I was weird and since everyone always took all the other ingredients first I had all the stuff no one wanted."

"Bunch of little shits." Grif huffed, "I'd have eaten the cake. Pie too."

"Even though it was pineapple? "

"Especially because it was pineapple."

Simmons chuckled, leaning his weight back against the other man as their not quite swaying dance reached the apples.

"Don't laugh," Grif playfully chided, "pineapple is the shit!"

Simmons grinned, turning his attention to the pre-bagged fruit, they were a bit on the small side, so two bags would probably be enough.

He grabbed three Oranges for Lopez, not sure what he wanted them for, all he'd put was Oranges, purl, so three was probably a safe number...

"It's not that," he said quietly, "well not completely. I'm thinking about how I would have reacted. Can't decide if I'd have tried to ignore it or if I'd have made you my official taste tester." Simmons looked over his shoulder at Grif the best he could, "I guess I'd like to think I'd have tried to be friends with you... Without humiliating myself..."

"Never know," Grif replied, sounding almost... Wistful? "If you'd started giving me cake, I might have asked you out."

Simmons blushed, "I don't know, I was kind of a shit..."

"Still are," the other man retorted, "but I'm dating you anyway."

Simmons flushed, "That's, that's true." he stammered, trying to compose himself, "come on, let's go to the uh, bread aisle, you were looking forward to that, right?"

Grif snickered, but let him go.

  
          The bread aisle wasn't an aisle per say, not in that it wasn't an aisle, but in that, it wasn't just bread. Was basically grain stuff, mostly. There was a lot of bread too, just not a lot of variety. Wheat bread. White bread.

One of each in the cart.

Cereal was here too, while that tended to have more variation it also disappeared nearly as soon as it came in. Seemed the mostly young population of Chorus liked cereal, sugary ones the most. So all that was left now was more or less only the nonsugary kinds.

Simmons did manage to find a couple boxes of some fruity and frosted stuff shoved to the back though. Good find! Caboose and Grif would enjoy that, Donut too, not that he'd admit it, and, unexpectedly, Carolina.

He'd caught her mid-mouthful once, hunched around her bowl like a cat, afraid someone would steal it. They had stared unmoving at one another for several long seconds before he'd wisely decided that saying nothing and acting like she wasn't even there was the best option. Good survival instincts.

He grabbed one box and moved the other to the front for someone else, taking one of the nonsugar grain ones too.

  
          Logically one would think he'd come here on the day they restocked rather than now when they were clearly almost out. Normally he would, it made the most sense. But... But... He just couldn't, call it weird, but the idea made him feel guilty. These people had gone so long with absolutely nothing and while it was better now, on the way to recovery, things were still tight. So the way he saw it, they should get first dibs.

He and the others were still seen as heroes here, even by those who knew how incompetent they really were. This was a whole planet willing to bend over backward for them, for almost anything they'd ask. It... Wasn't fair though, to the people of Chorus, not to them, they didn't deserve any of that admiration. He and the- well, most of the others, had wanted to help in some way, especially later on, but that didn't make it right to take things from them. Mooch off them like leeches.

So they'd make due with whatever was left.

  
A good sign, he thought, was when there were new things still left over, because that meant the demand wasn't so manic, that what was coming in was, at least somewhat, greater than the demand. A surplus.

Like this for example!

Simmons hummed in pleasant surprise as he spotted the neat, though mostly empty, row of bagels.

Plucking a bag from the shelf the cyborg turned it over in his hands. Hmm... Now there was an idea...

"Hey Grif?" he called, the man in question looked up from where he was at the other end of the aisle, intensely contemplating different kinds of jelly (of which there were three, he had told him he could have two), Simmons held up the bag, "Pizza Bagels?"

Grif was at his side with a swiftness that still shocked him.

"Oh my god, yes!" the brunette exclaimed, "Simmons!" he pushed right up into his boyfriend's face, up on his toes, noses nearly touching, even as the taller of the two leaned backwards, flustered, blush worsening when Grif's hands covered his, still holding the bagel bag, "How are you so perfect?"

"I, I'm really not..." Simmons stammered face burning.

"You know how to make pizza bagels!"

"Every child on earth knows how to make Pizza Bagels!"

"You also know how to make tacos into soup and dip."

"It's really not hard at all though-"

Grif pressed their noses together and Simmons nearly fainted, "You hush when I'm complimenting you."

"Sor- sorry?"

Grif pulled back enough to look at him flatly, "You are forgiven." the large man gave him a swift peck on the lips and snatched the bag from the taller's mismatched hands, tossing it into the cart.

  
         After he'd recovered from his near death experience Simmons found himself in the row that contained canned food and soup.

A couple of cans of black beans were a given if they were doing the taco soup, should he get canned corn? Or see if there was frozen stuff? Easier than trying to remove the kernels from the cobs, nice as that would be...

Should get some pasta sauce too...

Didn't need pasta or rice. He'd special ordered those staples in bulk! They were set for a good long while.

He'd just finished deciding on soups, how much and who for, when Grif came near dashing around the far end of the row. He was carrying two cases of what appeared to be beer (a staple for their ragtag group, obviously) which he nearly slammed into the cart before skidding to a stop in front of Simmons.

"Simmons!" Grif crowed cheerfully, "Come'mere! You're not going to believe this! I need your help!"

Simmons blinked, processing the flurry of information, "Wait... You found something I won't believe? Or I won't believe you need my help?"

Grif rolled his eyes, "Just come with me!"

The redhead tried not to worry about leaving their cart as Grif dragged him away, there was no one else here, no one was gonna steal their cart, it was fine. It was. No big deal.

Possibly unsurprisingly, they ended up in front of the alcohol display, instead of leading him to some large case or something that he needed help lifting (which was what Simmons had assumed), Grif instead pulled him back a few steps, pointing up towards the top shelf.

"You see that?"

Simmons squinted a little, see what? Oh! No, okay, up there, top shelf, almost too far back to be seen, was a bottle of... Something? Looked almost like a wine bottle... Maybe a bit smaller? Thinner? Not a whole lot of light up top... Grif must have seen it purely by chance.

"Yeah," he replied, pointing, "that one there? In the back?"

"Think you can reach it?" Grif pleaded.

"Yeah, yeah I think so."

Getting closer he could easily tell why Grif would need help, an average sized person or even a semi-tall one wouldn't even be able to see the bottle for how far back it had been pushed. Grif wasn't short exactly, but the angle was so awkward that even on tiptoe he could probably only brush it with his fingertips at best.

He, however, had just about a full head's height over the Hawaiian, so maybe...

The Dutch-Irishman grunted as he pushed himself to his full height, his fingers touching the wide part of the bottle, turning it a bit, shifting it slightly closer. Almost... Come on! He leaned more on his robotic leg (stronger than his human one, better balance) rising up just a bit in his toes and...

"Got it!" Simmons cheered, plopping back down on his heels, prize in hand.

Huh... What was this? He'd been right about it resembling a smaller, thinner, wine bottle, but it wasn't wine...

The glass was clear, showing a kind of golden-amber liquid inside. The label was an off-white and boasted an almost woodcut-esq image of a woman with long wavy hair, adorned with a crown and necklace of large flowers, similar to those surrounding her which were intermixed with some sort of spiky plant. She was holding some... Something? Some kind of stick? Or a root? Or-?

"Oh my god yes!" Grif plucked the bottle from his hands, grinning at it like a loon, "I can't believe this! Simmons, do you know what this is?!"

"Booze?" Simmons asked unhelpfully.

Grif laughed, "Yeah. But this is Okolehao! They must have gotten it by accident."

"Ok-oh-lee-how?"

Grif snickered, "Oookoooh," he said slowly.

"Ohko."

" _Oko_."

"Oko."

" _Leh_ "

"Leh"

" _Hao_ "

"Hao" Simmons finished slowly, "Oko-le-hao?"

Grif beamed at him, "There you go!" he smirked, "your accent is terrible, it's adorable."

The cyborg stuck his tongue out at him petulantly.

"Poor baby mainlander." Grif teased, saying the last bit with an over the top exaggerated accent, "This," he hefted the bottle, "Okolehao, is also known as 'Hawaiian Moonshine'."

Simmons' eyes widened, "Wait, like for real? That's actually moonshine?"

"Depends, if this is the real deal then it could be 130 proof."

"Christ! That's like 60% alcohol!" the cyborg made a face, "Must taste like paint thinner."

Grits scoffed, "Nah dude. It tastes like _sugar_."

"So it's like _mead_?" Simmons asked.

Grif tilted his head, "You've had **mead**?"

"Yes."

Simmons could see Grif filing that away for later. "This stuff is made from the roots of the Ti plant." he resumed.

"It's made from tea?"

"No, with an 'i'."

"Oh."

"Anyway," Grif continued, amused, "nice thing is that if this is local, and not some Haole knockoff, they'll have added other stuff, fruit usually. Each brewer does it a little bit different. Like pineapple is really common, banana too, and sometimes they mix in rum or bourbon and shit, makes it 'warm'."

Simmons smiled at Grif's almost wistful chattering, it was a habit he seemed to have picked up when he'd been alone on the moon. It had been a little worrying at first but appeared to have died down and generally only popped up now if he was excited or worried, this was obviously the former, "You know a lot about it huh?"

Grif's cheeks pinked a little, "I kinda wanted to learn how to make it. Well, I mean, I did learn how to make it."

"Really?" Simmons asked in surprise, "Did it you make a lot of it?"

"Eh not really. It involved a lot of waiting..." Grif shrugged, "First batch kind of came out sort of... _Off?_ "

"What happened?"

Grif shrugged again, looking a bit sheepish, "I might have tried to flavor it with Gummy Bears..."

"Huh," Simmons cringed a little, " **that** bad?"

"Oh, everyone threw up." the brunette sounded almost proud, "It was kind of amazing. Don't know if Kai will forgive me for it. She hurled all over the guy she was dating at the time. Served him right. Total douche."

Simmons laughed then hummed, "You know what you should have done? Made the stuff and then soaked Gummy Bears in it."

Grif blinked, "Huh?"

"Yeah, just line the bears up on a baking sheet, one with a raised edge, pour the stuff on them, put them in the fridge overnight. They puff up really big." Simmons bit his lip in thought, "If Okolehao has a lot of sugar in it then you probably want sugar free bears so no one hurls or gets type two or something."

Grif gaped at him, gesturing with a free hand. _How?!_

Simmons flushed, pointing to himself, "Suburban white kid who wanted to be cool."

" _Aaaaah_..." Grif hummed in understanding, sauntering past him and heading for the cart.

Once there he placed the bottle almost reverently in the front basket and took over driving. Simmons followed dutifully behind him as Grif made a beeline for the snack aisle, detouring him only once so they could pick up ground beef and cuts of chicken.

  
          "You know..." Grif said almost wistfully, cutting into the silence, "This is almost like a scene out of a zombie movie."

"Oh?" Simmons asked, momentarily distracted from trying to remember if oatmeal raisin cookies were hated or loved, in their weird little collective. Who liked trail mix? Besides no one. Besides Donut. And probably Locus... And Carolina. And Washington. Though the super soldiers probably didn't actually like it, just probably viewed it as the most efficient snack. It was, but still...

"Yeah. I mean it's more relaxed... So maybe more of a sole survivor kind of thing. But, it's like that part they always have where the character finds a grocery store that's still got stuff? And they're all walking around like it's normal even though like half the building has gone to shit?"

Simmons chuckled, yeah he knew that scene, was a staple of the various apocalypse genres. They always found one place that had stuff and you got to see how they reacted. Caution, tears, manic joy. If they found anything else after that was dependent on the director.

"Maybe more the 'last people alive' sort of scenario though," Simmons pointed out, "I don't think we're dressed properly for Zombies."

"True..." Grif agreed, "Need to throw some weapons on you." he held up his hands, forming a rectangle with his fingers which he peered through, "Could see you with... hunting rifle? Maybe a sniper rifle too. And like... A bat with nails in it."

Simmons shook his head, "No way. Not a nail bat."

"What then?" Grif challenged.

"A hatchet or combat knife, and an ice pick or a Phillips-head screwdriver."

Grif lowered his makeshift frame, "Why those?"

"Knife or hatchet for cutting tendons on joints and pick or screwdriver for kills." Simmons explained matter-of-factly, giving up trying to remember and grabbing the oatmeal raisin anyway, "Problem with axes is they can get stuck and then you have no weapon, and far as bats and hammers go, those take a lot of effort to do damage, plus there's no guarantee you can take the zombie out in one hit. You want a needle-like tool because then it won't get stuck when you stab them, and you don't need a lot of force to get it through the skull. It's great for being quick and quiet."

There was a stretch of silence once he'd finished speaking, during which Grif just kind of stared at him when it was just shy of uncomfortable he finally responded.

"God man, you're just so fucking- " he shook his head with a grin and a laugh, "I fucking love how well you thought that out."

Simmons smiled back, slightly flushed at the praise but beaming with pride, "Well, I mean, I like that sort of stuff... We see how well it translates in the real world... But still."

"I think you could do it," Grif said almost quietly.

"Do what?"

"Survive. If there was like a zombie outbreak or the world ended, you'd totally make it."

There was this tone in how Grif said that which puzzled Simmons, he wasn't sure what to make of it. It wasn't sad exactly... Or happy.

"I... Thank you?" he tried, "I don't know how true that would be but I'd do my best?" he did have a tendency to start out... Passable, and completely fall apart at the end. So he'd probably be useless in all honesty.

Oh boy... The silence was back now, not in a good way.

Fix it.

_Fix it fix it fix it fix it-_

"Is that how you've been imaging it?" Simmons blurted, stellar, "All this I mean, this trip? Are you into that right now?" somewhere in there was an actual question and thankfully Grif was skilled at deciphering his babble, so hopefully it would make sense.

"A little bit I guess?" Grif replied hesitantly, "Not in a crazy way or anything!"

"Oh, no I know that!" the cyborg backtracked, "I was thinking it felt kind of weird-fiction-y, like something out of Lovecraft?" he fidgeted, "I just meant like... Is that what you're interested in right now? Being a sole survivor?"

Grif opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, his gaze fell to the side, "I've been thinking about it a bit I guess?" there was that tone again, what was that? Was it discomfort? Grif had been all alone on the moon before, he'd said it was really boring, but maybe he missed it? Having time to himself? "I think, like if something like that did happen, that I'd be okay with it. As long as... We were together?"

Oh!

Simmons felt his face go scarlet and a slight prickling start up in his human eye. "O-oh! I um! Thank you? I mean I, crap, um..."

When in doubt.

The redhead shuffled a little closer and shyly took Grif's hand, entwining their fingers. "I think I might have something you'd like then?" Grif's shoes sure were fascinating, "It's an old cartoon, about two girls traveling together in the remains of this planet-sized city, and just kind of... Living?" wow way to make it sound interesting... "It's called 'Girl's Last Tour', like military tour. So, if you wanted? I mean it's surprisingly upbeat, but..."

His boyfriend was quiet and Simmons couldn't make himself look up like if he did he might see something Grif didn't want him to? Why couldn't he shake the feeling that it wasn't as simple as being 'bored'?

Simmons almost jumped when he felt a sudden weight lean against him and turned face to face with Grif's messy ponytail when the other man mumbled, "Sap." into the hood of his jacket.

He felt the edges of a smile against the metal of his neck, "Let's watch that, I think I'd like it."

The cyborg leaned his head timidly against the top of Grif's, did that mean he did good?

"I'm glad you're here. I couldn't do the apocalypse without you. If there was one." Simmons ventured. Just... Really felt like he needed to say that, no matter how weird it might sound.

There was the warmth of a huffed laugh against his plating, followed by a, "Me too."

There was a brightness about Grif when he pulled away and he didn't let go of his hand.

"So. What's left?"

Simmons ran through his mental checklist, "Wash wanted chocolate."

"For real?" the larger man chuckled.

"Yeah," Simmons couldn't help a laugh of his own, "I guess he really likes it?"

"Makes a weird kind of sense though when you think about it." that weird look flitted across Grif's features again, "We should get some for Carolina, Locus too."

"What kind do you think they'd like?" Simmons asked, perusing over what was left. Milk chocolate for Wash for sure, not very much of that remained, unsurprisingly.

"This one." Grif stated, holding up a bar with a red label, which read, 'milk chocolate + 10% chili powder'.

"I've never had that, is it good?"

Grif nodded, "Yeah, it's, I guess you'd say warm? Not spicy. It's an aftertaste?" he regarded his cyborg, "Want some?"

"Yeah, okay sure." Simmons smiled, "If I don't like it you can have it."

Grif fake gasped, "I should be so blessed!" he tossed several bars into the cart, mostly the chili powder, some dark chocolate, and one with raspberries on its label. "Carolina," he said when Simmons tilted his head in question.

Ah.

  
          As they made their way to the checkout Simmons couldn't help mulling this over. He felt a brief pang of jealousy followed by harsh shame.

He knew how important snacks and the rare sharing of them were to Grif, so if he was not only planning to get some for Carolina and Locus but knew enough to get one especially for the mostly red-haired freelancer, then...

He shouldn't feel jealous. He and Grif weren't ever really apart, and they spent the vast majority of their time together. Not to mention his own inability to make friends with either of the intimidating soldiers was squarely his fault. If he wasn't such a disaster...

Besides, no right to feel that way when Grif had basically just said, not long ago, that he'd prefer a world where it was just the two of them and no one else.

He should have more friends if he wanted then. Loneliness sucked. He didn't need to intrude on that, he was okay by himself, he had lots of work to do! So...

Didn't stop him from holding Grif's hand a little tighter, even when the cashier made her appearance from the back of the store, stammering apologies for their nonexistent wait, a broom tapping along behind her.

 

          She was fast on scanning he'd give her that, even when she'd finally registered who they were and burst into further apologies and barely restrained giggles and a bright joyous grin. He couldn't help but notice though the way she'd hesitate and glance at her phone, laying on the counter beside her.

Grif surprised him when he spoke up after she'd keyed them up in the system, removing their purchases from the amount their group was allotted, "Hey, you can ask if you want, kiddo."

Christ, she really was just a kid wasn't she? Not long ago she'd have been wrapped in armor, gun in her hand, wondering if she'd live till tomorrow...

The girl stammered out an embarrassed squeaking sound, "I uh! Sir! Um, sirs! Could, could I have a photo? Please? Sirs?"

"Sure!" Grif replied.

She squeaked again and fumbled with her device.

"Hold up," Grif stopped her when she pointed the lens at them, her face fell and Simmons saw the familiar fear of someone who thought they'd done something wrong, "don't you want to be in the picture too?"

The cashier beamed like the fucking sun, "Yes! Oh my god! Thank you, sir!"

Simmons tried not to look too awkward when Grif looped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close, and situating them just behind the cashier with her face between them, egging her on, “Make sure you get our good sides! Feel free to slap these babies up on your page or whatever, see normally we'd charge for this but this time you're an exception. Let's make your friends crazy jealous!”

The redhead did his best to smile when she held the camera up and snapped several pictures. He could see her expression in the preview image, she looked like this was the best night of her life. While still catastrophically self-conscious and embarrassed, Simmons had to admit... It felt kind of good to know he'd made someone that happy.

All with a smile and a photo.

 

*****

 

          “That was really nice of you,” he told Grif while they loaded their haul into the back of the Warthog, “I was a bit surprised though, I didn't think you liked that kind of thing?”

Grif paused, “I don't. I don't like all that celebrity crap. I mean it's great when people think you're the shit but, getting mobbed and bothered everywhere? Count me the fuck out. That's why I didn't want to stay here after we got rid of those mercenary assholes.” he shrugged, “But... I mean, she was just one person, and it didn't take any effort at all. Guess it just felt like she deserved something nice?”

Simmons checked the last bag to make sure it was secure before moving to the passenger's seat, when Grif got in the driver's side, he leaned over and stole a quick peck, “Was pretty harrowing. But, I'm glad we did that.” He settled back in his seat with a contented sigh, “This trip too, it was fun.”

“Told you you'd like it.” Grif pulled out of the pockmarked parking lot and took off down the road, closer to his normal speed, only the prospective safety of the food in the back keeping him in check.

Leaning his head back Simmons turned it to look at the moon, still cool and bright, starting it's descent towards the skyline. It was almost four... Morning would be coming soon.

“It still feels so weird. I wonder what causes that...?” he murmured.

“Probably some chemical thing.” Grif said, “Psychology junk or whatever. It's all different and feels not real so you feel different and not real. Some crap like that.”

Simmons hummed into a half laugh, “You're so eloquent.”

“Sorry, I'm not up to your expectations Mr. Novelist.”

“Oh, stop, you know I'm not.” the cyborg chided, closing his eyes and basking in the feeling this time brought. He felt much lighter somehow. This had been a good idea. A really good idea.

“You falling asleep over there?” Grif teased.

“No, I'm still not tired. No big, that just means I'll wipe myself out today and crash tonight.”

  
         It turned out that he was, in fact, a dirty, dirty, liar.

He'd made it all the way back to the apartment, brought all the bags up the stupid stairs, bright eyed and bushy tailed, but halfway through putting shit in the fridge he started zoning out.

 

          Simmons jerked to attention with a sharp inhale when Grif touched his shoulder, “You still with me?”

“Huh? Wha-? No, I'm fine.” he quickly put away three cans and a box of cereal before there was a sudden gap in his awareness and he found himself becoming dazedly fixated on the bag of bagels he held stupidly in his hands.

He most certainly did not whine when his boyfriend took them and steered him towards a chair.

“Sit.” Grif ordered, “I'll do the rest.”

“Liar.” Simmons challenged groggily, but did not resist, “You don't do work...”

“Damn right I don't, so you can't tell anyone or I'll have to kill you.” Grif returned to the fridge, putting what little produce was left in it somewhat haphazardly, “But food is important, so it's not really work. Like being an artist.”

“Says the artist...”

Grif gave him such a _look_ that Simmons couldn't help the giggle that bubbled out from between his lips as he fought to keep his head propped up with his arm and not slam his face into the table.

“You're putting all that away wrong... The... Um... round things with the red... fuck... they go on the bottom in the thing... that holds stuff.”

“You can fix it in the morning, you nutcase.” It was the Hawaiian's turn to laugh, “You're in no position to dictate anything right now anyway.” He pointed to the top part of the... big thing, at the box with the ice, the freezy box... thing, “Bet you can't even tell me what this is.”

“Freezy box.”

Grif pushed the big door shut with his foot, “Fucking Jesus,” he laughed again, “I'd record you so I could show you later, but then someone might see and I don't want to share it.” he scooped up a bag from the floor and took Simmons' hand with his other and pulled him up out of the chair.

And Simmons did not lean on him, no sir he didn't.

… Well, maybe a little...

“Thas the choco... fuck... bars.” he mumbled into Grif's shoulder, he wasn't stupid he could see the shapes in the bag his boyfriend carried, and the bottle of that cool shit they found, “Those are for the scary people, not you...”

“I'll give them to them in the morning, I'm just holding on to them so no one else gets them first. You **know** Tucker would steal it.”

“Give him the one that _burns_...” Simmons hissed threateningly, at least he thought it was threatening.

“That's a thought, we should special order chocolate filled with Wasabi, good shit. Bet he'd love that.” Grif said with a snicker. Agreed.

  
          Simmons distantly remembered something important as Grif nudged him gently into their room and towards the bed. Mmmm.... Bed... WAIT! …There was a thing...

“Grif.” He declared, halfway through trying to pull off his hoodie without unzipping it, tricky son of a bitch, blanking out immediately after until Grif made a 'go on' gesture as he hovered over him like a mother.... thing that's big and fluffy and made of feathers. “The... fuck what is it... the... round, and orange, what is that?”

“You mean oranges?”

“Yes! Those are for... Lo...Lo...pez.” he giggled and stumbled into a yawn, “LoLo...”

“What does he need-?” Grif began, but caught himself and put a hand over Simmons' mouth before he could try to hypothesize, “Never mind, I'll just ask in the morning. Bed.”

“But it is morning.”

“Bed.”

Grif gave him a playful not really shove and tossed Simmons down onto the mattress. Well not actually tossed, he had just flopped down like a sack of potatoes but in his head, he imagined tossing, it was funnier.

The heavier man followed suit and Simmons made the herculean effort to snuggle up and bury his face against Grif's neck as soon as he rolled over, mumbling words of affection.

“... Love you, Simmons...” he dimly heard Grif say quietly in the dark as his brain started to shut off. There was a faint pressure on his head and arms around him and it was so warm...

  
         The first fragile rays of daylight skirted the horizon, the last sliver of moon disappeared, the stars started to fade, a comfortable silence settled over the room.

And finally, **finally** , Simmons fell asleep.

  
TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you guys have not gone on a 3 am food run you totally should. I did my best to convey how it felt when I did it, it really is a surreal sort of experience! 
> 
> Simmons' stories about Home Ec are actually based on mine and we did make all those things. As for the gummies I've not made those so be careful if you get the idea to make some yourself, I hear they are VERY potent and that you can really fuck yourself up if you eat a bunch. So look into it first. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed a far less depressing chapter! As always please let me know if you see any mistakes or if there is something that needs to be tagged that I missed. If you have any questions, suggestions, or just general comments please, please, please, feel free to leave them. I love to read them all and make it a point to respond to every one! (even if I'm slow) See you all next time! ~ Much love, CC

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that wasn't too bad a read for everyone ^^0 Just to be clear if you are a fan of Tucker I don't think you're a bad person or anything. Unfortunately the incident with the Temple of Procreation and his subsequent reaction/non punishment have made him a horrible person in my eyes. That in and of itself would not be such an issue if the show didn't treat it as a joke, or the other characters made their disgust for what he did apparent. Even the writing staff admitted they screwed it up so hopefully in the future they will work to have him understand what he had done, though that will be a difficult task imo. 
> 
> Sorry if that seems like an odd thing to clarify but feelings are sensitive and I do not want any readers thinking I hate them for liking Tucker despite this. I also want to assure you that while Simmons and Grif are understandably angry and hurt by him this isn't going to be a Tucker "Hate Fic" where his either repeatedly punished or turned into some sort of super villain.
> 
> Though this one was a bit of a rough start the other chapters will have much more fluff and seeing our boys get to be happy. If you have any sort of things you might like to see feel free to let me know and I'll see if they inspire me! :)
> 
> As always please let me know if you see any mistakes or if there is something that needs to be tagged that I missed. Also your comments are wonderful and I love seeing what you thought! ~ Much love, CC


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